


Against The Counter in 221B

by WitchRavenFox



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dancer John, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Friendship, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Male Slash, Private Dancer, Rimming, Stress Relief, dance it out, single behaviour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchRavenFox/pseuds/WitchRavenFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On returning from a night out, Sherlock and John confess their feelings for each other against the counter, and it gets hot.<br/>"You don’t really know everything, Sherlock."<br/>"I know about you!”<br/>"I do have some secrets that you don’t know about,” John scoffed.<br/>“Alright then, let’s try me then, shall we?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Confessions

“You don’t really know everything, Sherlock. Don’t pretend you do,” John huffed closing the door to 221B to sweep past Sherlock, in a hurry to mount the stairs.

“Okay, maybe not everything. Anything I don’t already know probably isn’t worth knowing. I know next to everything that is worth knowing, and I can always read anything that I don’t already know but feel could be relevant at some point in the future. Not that it will take that much time to learn. Anyway, John, I know about you!” Sherlock followed in a ponderous fashion, his long lean legs eating the distance with ease.

“You think you know me, Sherlock? You might live with me but you really don’t know everything. I do have some secrets that you don’t know about,” John scoffed as he removed his coat and threw it on the sofa before ducking into the kitchen to boil the kettle.

“Alright then, let’s try me then, shall we? You tend to have a bad right shoulder on weekends when you are more likely to get more sleep, but every morning when you wake up its stiff – which means that you likely sleep on your right side, with your shoulder scrunched up. Despite that, you sleep on the right side of the bed near the alarm clock. You’re left handed, so you can stretch in front of you with little effort.

“You have a bottle of brandy stashed under your bed side cabinet, not expensive, but it does the trick, Martell, for when you wake up from the nightmares of the things that you’ve seen in war, so medicinal purposes to get you back to sleep,” Sherlock rambled on autopilot.

“Sherlock,” John exclaimed, “Hang about, how on earth did you know that? Have you been snooping in my room?”

“You date, a lot. It’s never anything serious though and never for too long maybe two dates. Maybe three at a push. You never bring them back here, despite us living in a nice area, easily accessible, and you rarely stay out with them overnight either. So you could be hiding something that you don’t want these women to see…But what?” Sherlock continued as though John hadn’t spoken.

“Sherlock, please…” John pleaded, leaving the confines of the kitchen to see a pacing Sherlock who stopped suddenly in front of him.

“What are you hiding, John? It’s got to be good. You wouldn’t bother trying to hide it otherwise. I live with you and Mrs Hudson is downstairs. Afraid of how ‘homey’ it might look with her looking after us bachelors… No too easy, a man that’s been in the army doesn’t need his apron strings to be cut. What else? Me? I’m honest, nice enough when I can be bothered, but with a predilection to abandon all tact even when the occasion calls for it.

“No, that can’t be the reason, can it John? I’m sure you would warn them all about me and all of my funny little ways. No one knows them better than you. Unless…Unless you avoid talking about me. That would mean a surprise if they were to come here and meet me…” Sherlock quietened his mouth while his mind continued to speed along, like he was trying to see the answer to a simple algebra equation but the answer was eluding him time and again.

“Stop, Sherlock. I get it, you know me. So we can stop this now,” John protested in hope he could shake Sherlock from his train of thought before he got to the answer that John had been guarding for some time.

“Why hide me, John? What’s so special about me?” The detective mused.

“Nothing is special about you. You’re arrogant, tactless. You think of no-one but yourself and solving your crime, and getting results from your experiments,” John snapped, backing up towards the kitchen table with another of Sherlock’s said experiments, running its course there. John took a deep breath to try to still his mouth and calm the ever rising anger at his colleague’s ignorance at the things that had been changing between them for months.

Sherlock took a measured step toward the doctor and marked the flush upon John’s skin, over his cheeks and down the side of his thick neck. The detective took a moment to listen and heard John’s breathing had increased, and was becoming more laboured. Sherlock had noticed this happen more and more of late. Usually when they were alone and had a disagreement of some kind. He had his suspicions at the changing dynamics, but this was not something he was willing to act on instinct alone. He needed more information rather than to risk his friendship on a hunch.

“I haven’t changed, John. I’m still me but you’re wrong on something, I don’t just think about myself. I have three people that I would die for. Three people who are all I have and one of them is more important than the other two. By leaps and bounds,” Sherlock took another calculating step forward speaking quietly, and watched John consider moving, left then right until he finally decided to stay where he was. To Sherlock he looked almost like a deer caught in headlights, panicking and ready to leap to freedom.

“Why hide me, John?”

The smaller man raised his chin in defiance and looked Sherlock straight in the eyes, “You tell me, Sherlock, you tell me,” he said calmly, before he turned on a heel and resumed making the tea from the now boiled kettle.

John took refuge in not looking at Sherlock’s face while he could practically hear the cogs turning at an alarming rate within his genius mind. He couldn’t derail the train that was speeding ahead called Sherlock Holmes, no. John Hamish Watson now had to wait for Sherlock to arrive there himself. They had to bring this to a head today.

“We’re friends, the best of friends in fact. We work together. Live together. We’ve almost died together on numerous occasions. You are my conscience more often than not when my mind is too taken with details, facts and figures. Where I see science, you see people. So we sort of balance each other out,” Sherlock moved to the fridge and leaned against it looking at John’s back pensively,“If you’re not protecting other people from my genius and ineptitude at emotions, then you must be protecting me from other people and the way that they may see me. I don’t care how people see me John. I really don’t.”

John was taking care in arranging the teacups on the tray with such precision when he quietly said, “But I do, Sherlock. I care.”

“Do you care because you’re a friend?” Sherlock asked gently, walking another step closer to John’s knit clad back, he still hadn’t turned around. Sherlock needed to see John’s face. Sherlock needed to see John’s eyes, those expressive dark blue eyes that always told Sherlock exactly what John Watson was thinking, even when John didn’t actually say a word. Those eyes would tell Sherlock where John’s mind would go to next as well.

“Yes, and because...” John stopped himself and focused on steeping his own tea longer than necessary. He put sugar in Sherlock’s cup and some extra in a dish for Sherlock to add at will when he found that John’s solitary teaspoon was never enough. He couldn’t trust himself to speak again unless they changed the subject. He couldn’t bear Sherlock’s scorn on human emotion, on John’s very own emotions.

Since Jeanette had so effectively made it clear that it seemed the most important person in John’s life was Sherlock, and Irene Adler had pointed toward the very same thing in more ways than one, although with her own agenda in mind ,John had thought about his relationship with the detective a lot. Possibly more than he should.

His own feelings revealed to him that life was boring without Sherlock in it and it wasn’t just the cases. It was Sherlock, and everything about him. They worked well together, anticipating each other’s moods. John also knew how to bring a little humanity into Sherlock’s life beyond the sciences. John knew that although Sherlock would rant, rave and rally against it, he was also deeply grateful that someone had taken the time to get to know him better and help him understand things he had no knowledge of, even if he didn’t intend on remembering it.

“Because what, John? Because...?” Sherlock moved another step closer to John’s back, and Sherlock could feel the heat radiating from John.

“Sherlock, please don’t make me say it. Please lets not...”

“I’m not. Maybe I can make things easier for you though. Things between us have been... changing since that day at the pool, with Moriarty. We have been... Closer, so much closer in fact. We need each other now more than we may have ever needed each other before. What I said when we were at Baskerville, after that night in the woods... It was true. It is true... You... are my only friend. My best friend.”

Sherlock had hoped that John would turn to look at him, but he didn’t. He stayed facing the cups and his shoulders visibly slumped. John couldn’t talk for a moment while he tried to control the overwhelming emotions he felt pummelling him from every direction into an emotional corner.

“Right then, of course. It’s always good to have a best friend. You are mine, too. My best friend, I mean. It’s a good thing.”

“I’ve upset you, haven’t I?”

“No, I’m fine. Tea?”

“John, I really think we should talk about this.” Sherlock persisted, a certain stillness coming over him as he remained but an arm’s length from John.

“We just did.” John brought himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders before turning round to face Sherlock notching his chin up in the air, the military man coming to the fore with an attempted sense of finality.

“John, I have feelings!” Sherlock spat out, stunning them both into silence.

Sherlock took a step back, unbuttoned his jacket to reveal a deep blue shirt opened at the top to reveal a small triangle of his pale skin and leaned against the kitchen table thrusting his hands in his trouser pockets petulantly and looked at the floor. John wasn’t sure where to look at first. To look at Sherlock direct in the face would be to let him read everything. For once John was able to read something from the detective while he wasn’t looking. His face became animated in a way John had only seen in the pub during the Baskerville saga.

Sherlock looked nervous, like he was waiting for some kind of decision to be made, and after his declaration, John felt he understood something at last. Sherlock didn’t feel in control of something. Something most people would have to deal with on a day to day basis. Emotions… If you weren’t too sure of how to react to them, never been in an adult relationship, you’d be lost, confused even. John was sure this is what he was watching is flatmate experience.

“Feelings are good Sherlock. They can really help to open you up.”

“Is that something that your therapist said?” Came Sherlock’s dry response.

“No.”

“Well, now I can’t fair well say that she doesn’t know anything, can I?” Sherlock mused before falling into silence. John turned and picked up his own cup of tea and took a sip, and then he turned back he was faced with a triangle of pale skin that had moved silently, the scent of mangoes tickled his nose, and John knew that Sherlock had used his favourite body shampoo.

John looked up into Sherlock’s face and couldn’t think. Being this close to him was causing his brain to short circuit. Sherlock’s blue eyes peered down and looked like a clear sky to John. He felt lost for a moment.

“John?”

“Yes, Sherlock.”

“These feelings... I am lost in them. I try to beat them back. To ...control them. But I can’t. I just... they are there all the time.” Sherlock struggled, drawing his hands over his face once, twice before thrusting them back in his trouser pockets. “I can’t get away from them, and I am not entirely sure that I want to.”

“Well that’s good, Sherlock,” John slipped in before Sherlock continued once again oblivious he had spoken.

“It’s your fault. All these feelings, I wouldn’t have them plaguing me if not for you. Caring for you and being around you all the time with your heart. You are making me feel... making me feel for you, everyday. I won’t keep it locked up any more, John. I just will not. My head might explode with all the thoughts of you in there.”

John almost dropped the teacup in his hand and placed it back on the tray for safe keeping before squeaking, “What do you mean ‘thoughts of me’?”

“I mean thoughts of you. All I think about is you. How I would feel if suddenly you left me. How nice it is to know that you’re here when I get home, or nice it is that you understand my ways. That you did from the word ‘go’. That you accept me for who and what I am.”

John’s mind scrambled to keep up with the knowledge that was being thrown at him. The knowledge that Sherlock was sharing freely with him here in their kitchen, much like normal people would do. The subtext of what he was saying was clear but John really wanted to hear him say it. Not for satisfaction, or one up-man-ship, but if Sherlock could say the words they both knew were coming, John may have the strength to divulge his deepest and most well kept secret also.

“What are you saying, Sherlock?” John turned his face up to Sherlock’s as the good detective peered down at him with his clear blue eyes, “I need to hear you say it. Please.”

Sherlock pursed his lips together, “You’re going to make me say it?”

“It’s as much for me as it is for you, but yes. Please. Say it.”

“When I think of you…,” Sherlock’s lips twitched, “When I think of you, I get warm. I feel like I’m happy. Not the same happy that I get from solving a case that is more of a temporary excitement. What I get from you is a sense of peace, happiness. I’m not… alone. I’m… yours. You have a quiet way of handling me. Of letting me know that I am being a little less human… that helps to soften my sharp edges. When I said before that I don’t care about what other people say, I meant it. I don’t care about what Molly, or Mycroft or Donovan think. I care about what you think. I always care what you think of me.

“I want to say that I… that I love you, except I’m afraid that I don’t really know what that means in a relationship. I know that I want to learn it from you. If anyone could show me how to love, John it is completely you. You brought about this… metamorphosis. It has to be you.”

“Well that is very good, because I always think of you. When you’re obnoxious, irritating. When you let you head get so big that you are swollen with self importance. I think of you. Sometimes I am thinking, ‘God Sherlock, could you be any more arrogant?’ And then you prove me wrong. You make me smile, even when I’m losing my temper at you. I can be myself, just me, no walls. Not that I could have any with you, I mean, you see through practically everything that I say and do… it means that you know me though, really know me in a way that others will never know me. 

“I care about what people think of you because you are an amazing man, truly brilliant. You try to hide it, but you have a big heart. Lestrade said to me once that you were a great man, and that one day you could learn to be a good one. I think you can. With me. I know you can. Together we bring out the best qualities in each other, we can make it work. We can love each other.”

John stepped to Sherlock so they were chest to chest. Sherlock froze, his eyes widened and when John stretched up to put his small hand to Sherlock’s face, he gasped. They’d never touched like this and John’s hand was warm from the cup of tea he’d been holding. The tactile sensation of John’s roughened hands against the smooth skin of his face sent shivers down his spine. John let his hand roam to the back of Sherlock’s’ head of curls and drew his face level to his own. Their breath mingled as they began to breathe faster, their hearts raced in their chests threatening to escape.

“You think I’m brilliant?” Sherlock whispered his eyes focused in on John’s lips, waiting for him to speak.

John raised an eyebrow at the question that Sherlock knew the answer to, “You know I do,” he murmured moving his lips a hairs breadth from Sherlock’s own, “Just like you know what I’m about to do.”

“Oh yes,” Sherlock groaned, closing the distance and joining his lips with that of his doctor.

John tried to restrain himself, slow himself down. He knew that Sherlock’s carnal knowledge wasn’t like his own and in the back of his mind somewhere a small record was repeating the words ‘slow down’. Oh, but the thrill of Sherlock’s lips, his soft cupids bow begged for more, John was loath to resist after all of the nights he had thought about their first kiss.

John opened his mouth slightly and let his tongue slip out and caress those lips, and Sherlock whimpered. John smiled and pushed past the seal of his lips, so he could slowly delve into Sherlock’s warm mouth as Sherlock tried to make John kiss faster, harder and deeper.

With a deep growl, Sherlock pushed against John backing him against the counter almost pushing the tray with the now cold tea on to the floor. With John’s thud, Sherlock became the dominant one, the one in control. 

Only Sherlock wasn’t the one in control, because all of the feelings that had been boiling around inside of him were coming out now. He didn’t know if he was doing it right, he was sure that John would tell him or show him if he wasn’t. His lack of experience bothered him now, although it never had done in his life before John. Science had been his life, chasing the solution. 

Sherlock’s body was in overdrive as his hands started to roam over John’s smaller but broader frame. The grey jumper that Sherlock loved was bulky, it covered too much of John, an unnecessary barrier. So Sherlock found the hem and started to tug it upwards impatiently.

“Sherlock,” John broke away reluctantly panting hard, “What are you doing?”

Sherlock gulped in some air before speaking. His pulse was racing, too fast for him to want to check now, not with John flushed standing before him gasping for breath. Not when all of his senses were telling him that the blood wasn’t going back to his brain, but beginning to settle lower.

“More. I want more. I need more of you, to... to touch you, John. You’re skin... I’ve never felt anything like this before. All I know is that I want more, please... More.” Sherlock started to chant to himself when John moved his arms to allow Sherlock to move the jumper higher until it was off his head and free of his arms and the t-shirt that John wore underneath quickly went the way of its predecessor. Sherlock moved in for another kiss, only at the neck, and John wrapped one arm around his shoulder giving him access to the dark mess of curls once more as Sherlock found his way back to John’s waiting mouth.

John surrendered himself to the kisses that followed at their varying intensities before remembering that Sherlock was the less experienced and that he should take some form of control. Changing the depth of the kisses, the swipe of his tongue, John managed to get Sherlock whimpering again at the sensation that he felt, allowing John to roam a hand over his chest through the navy shirt. He discarded Sherlock’s jacket swiftly and looked up into his lust laden eyes. 

A wry grin played across John’s face as Sherlock watched him intensely undo the buttons of his shirt. Every inch of skin that John discovered was pale and unblemished. He marvelled at how beautiful Sherlock was kissing the skin he revealed tasting an interesting mix of mango and salt. Sherlock could be a living statue if he didn’t speak, which happened on rare occasions these days. John wanted to taste him, to enjoy every look that ran across Sherlock’s face. Right now Sherlock was looking down at John in awe and anticipation. That was a very good start.

“I am trying to go slowly here, for you but I have got to taste you, if I don’t...,” John shook his head, “Well, that would just be very very bad. If you want me to stop, at any time... tell me.”

“Stop what?” Sherlock asked nonplussed as John bent down slightly and took one of Sherlock’s nipples in his mouth. The feeling went straight to Sherlock’s cock and he moaned, his moan having a chain reaction on John who found that his own cock was straining at his zipper begging for freedom.

“Don’t stop... please, don’t...” Sherlock begun to urge John on as a hand rubbed Sherlock through his trousers lightly, but the feeling was gone before he had a chance to thrust himself into the hand that had palmed him.

John stood quickly, his mind made a snap decision as he spun Sherlock against the counter and pulled him in for a kiss tasting the sweetness that lingered there from their night out. His hands ran up and down Sherlock’s sides in tandem, and suddenly there was only one hand roaming before Sherlock had noticed. John was resting one hand at the waistband of Sherlock’s trousers, running it along his lower abdomen drawing pleasurable gasps and moans from the detective.

With quick and decisive hands, John unhooked the trousers and slid the zip down, and Sherlock soon found himself standing with his trousers around his ankles, a predicament he didn’t think he’d ever found himself in before. John lowered himself to his knees and looked up to Sherlock to see his eyes widen in realisation. 

John had never done this before and Sherlock had never done this before, and yet for the two of them, it seemed like it was the most natural thing for them both to be doing, right here, right now. John looked up with shining eyes before tugging on the blue stripped boxers that Sherlock had on and gazed in amazement at what stood to attention before him.

Sherlock was hard, and long, which John should have supposed would be the case, but he’d read articles discussing the correlation between height and size, there wasn’t usually any truth to the rumour, but still John gulped in anticipation. He was a doctor, and over many years in the military he’d had to view many John Thomas’, but none of them had ever brought a lick of passion. He refreshed his memory and remembered what he himself liked, and knew that he was not going straight to the heart of the matter; he instead licked Sherlock’s thighs in long wet alternating swipes ensuring to avoid the one thing he really wanted. 

Each swipe brought Sherlock to the tips of his toes as all of his synapses fired pleasure through his body. Though, when Sherlock really lost his senses it was because John had suddenly covered his cock with his mouth and enclosed him in heat. Sherlock bucked on instinct. He couldn’t understand the impulse, but he knew that the feeling was nice. He wanted more, but he couldn’t form words, all he could do was feel.

John couldn’t believe how good it felt to have Sherlock in his mouth. He could smell the mango scent that had clung to his skin, and the slight salty undertone, and the musky scent that was uniquely Sherlock. It was Sherlock all over. John couldn’t get enough.

John let his hands settle on Sherlock’s hips and found himself dipping in a rhythm that he created where he would take Sherlock in full length, suck hard on his cock, and then draw slowly back, creating a swirling pattern on the head of his cock discovering the different sensations he could draw from himself and transmute to Sherlock with a glance. John began to lose himself in the motions almost as much as Sherlock had begun muttering nonsensically as his pleasure as it started to crest.

“John... I’m...,” Sherlock began, feeling his lower back start to tingle, “I... John I can’t...” Sherlock tried to warn John while scrambling for purchase on the counter, but the doctor remained on his knees, mouth on his member as he sucked harder creating a vacuum. One hum from John around his most tender point was all it took for Sherlock to be pushed over the edge sending spurts of warmth into John’s mouth and down his throat with a deep groan.

John welcomed the warm salty taste of Sherlock spurt after spurt, and John had worried that he wasn’t sure he would like Sherlock’s taste, but those fears had all but gone now. Looking up to Sherlock’s flushed smiling face he could see that he was there with him every step of the way. He let his hand take Sherlock gently from his mouth but did not relinquish his hold on the glorious cock that he had just gotten close and personal with for the first time, instead he could only nuzzle his thigh and feel the fine hairs that smattered there.

“That was...,” Sherlock panted.

“I know, it was unbelievable. I’ve wanted to do that to you for ages,” John finished for him, smiling up.

“Are your knees...? Do you need to get up?” Sherlock ran fingers over John’s hand that still had him palmed gently while caressing his sandy hair with the other.

“My knees will be fine, Sherlock. How are you feeling? Steady on your feet?” John asked getting up slowly, ignoring the crack in his knees and the throbbing that remained in his lower extremities. He brushed up to Sherlock and leaned his head on his shoulder.

Sherlock leaned down to capture John’s mouth in a tender kiss, it was brief but it said so many of the things that Sherlock didn’t know how to say yet but John knew what was in his heart.

“Is there anything I can do to help? I mean,” Sherlock grazed John through his jeans tracing the line of his bulge, “You did something amazing for me. I want to reciprocate. I think I can do what you just did...”

John drew Sherlock’s hands away and kissed the palm, “No, that was something from me to you, so you know how serious I am. Just in case you had doubts that you weren’t good enough. I wanted you to see what you are worth to me. Give me some time, and it’ll go away. I promise.”

“But John, I want to do this. Honestly.”

“Baby steps, Sherlock. Let’s not rush. We both have to be... what I mean is that, later we can further explore, but right now... we could lie down, the two of us together, and enjoy being together there. Please, trust me on this.”

Sherlock looked at John petulantly, but relented at seeing the good captain’s `no nonsense` look with the playful tinge in his steel blue eyes. They stood there together acclimatising themselves to being this close for a time in relevant comfort. The closest they had been thus far, with the knowledge that at some point soon they would get closer.

“Love, you are going to get cold as you are, let me pull up your pants.” 

Sherlock withdrew his hands and allowed John the space he needed while his own brain chugged back into action.

“John, how did you know how to...? I mean, you’ve never... before.”

“No, I’ve never done that to another guy,” John shifted his feet and looked quite bashful as he looked up into the consulting detectives eyes, “But I got myself hoping some time ago that we would, uh..., do that. So I researched it, and worked from, um... being on the other end. I wanted you to have something, from me.”

Sherlock cupped John’s cheeks and pecked his forehead, “I should have known you’d research. I wanted to, but I was... well I was a little afraid to.”

“Afraid? You? Sherlock Holmes doesn’t do afraid! Not my Sherlock at any rate.”

“Well as I am the only Sherlock here... I don’t know who else it would be,” Sherlock leaned against John gently looking as if he wanted to asked a question, John could see him finding a million and one ways to ask what was on the tip of his tongue, but couldn’t quite push the words out, so John decided to intervene.

“Should we go to your room, or mine then? I mean, either is a good choice, but where would you feel most comfortable?”

Sherlock simply smiled, “Wherever you are, of course.”

John blushed and took Sherlock’s hand and led him from the kitchen to his own bedroom wordlessly.

Who’s to say where the worlds only consulting detective and his doctor go from here, but they know that when people ask, they will always say “It started against the counter of 221b.”


	2. Macho Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock arrives home to see something he'd never dreamed of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, just wanted to give you all a heads up, there are funny bits here, so please, don't eat anything you could choke on before you start here, beware of liquids too. :) 
> 
> Thank you.

Sherlock arrived at 221B earlier than planned, Lestrade had kept him for far less time than he had originally estimated, actually figuring out the next piece of the puzzle by himself, rather than relying on Sherlocks’ intellect to do the job for him. Lestrade had ushered him out guaranting that when he next stumbled, which he thought to be possibly later that day, he would call the consulting detective right away so that time would not be wasted while this criminal set to expose the idiocy of half of Scotland Yard’s workers.

Sherlock had missed having his doctor by his side smiling at his sassy comments about Sally Donovan’s whereabouts the night before. Sherlock had to smile to himself at how domesticated they had become in so many ways, and yet so few things had changed. When the call came in the morning Sherlock had recognised that John was exhausted from the night before, that he had offered John a morning of repreive that was happily taken, as he snuggled further down into his bed wrapping the duvet around him.

Baker Street was quiet as Sherlock opened the door, Mrs Hudson was out as her door was closed, and as he walked up the stairs to the flat he shared with his partner, his love, he could hear music and it was not something he recognised. On opening their flat door Sherlock could decern the song lyrics but he was trying to put together why it would be on in their flat as he softly closed the door as to not draw any attention.

Sherlock couldn’t see John but he could hear him singing along to the music, although he sounded somewhat out of breath while he sang. Sherlock could only deduce that he was dancing to the song that he had never before heard in the confines of 221B; the punchy chorus more familiar but still not sitting well with the detective as he moved further into the kitchen, casting his eyes about what he could see of the living room until his eyes fell on John. 

Who was dancing by the window.

John was wearing nothing but a pair of white standard issue boxers and a pair of white socks that lay a contrast to the naturally tanned skin.

Who was still dancing by the window, oblivious to the fact that he was being watched by his boyfriend.

While dancing to Village Peoples’ `Macho Man`.

“Macho, macho man. I want to be a mahco man. Macho macho man... I’ve got to be a macho,” John crooned out while thrusting and pumping his arms together.

Sherlock was stunned, he honestly could not have spoken if he tried. His throat was dry because he was watching the doctor he lived with - his doctor - prancing around their flat, gyrating his hips to the rhythm of the music, singing at the top of his lungs to the rest of the song.

“Body, got to please my body... body... adore my body... yeah...”

Sherlock tried to stifle the laugh that was brimming on the edge of his lips but it would not be contained, and John froze, sensing finally that he was not alone as the track came to a close. He turned slowly, by fractions it seemed to a still laughing Sherlock, and when John faced him properly his mouth was agape at being caught, he clicked the small remote in his hand towards the stereo system, and the music cut off before the next track could really get started from the iPod stand.

“How long have you been standing there, Sherlock?” came the nervous, out of breath question coupled with an equally nervous flicker of deep blue eyes.

Sherlock came closer to John and circled his doctor clad in minimal white pieces of clothing and stopped when they were chest to chest. Inquisitive blue-gray eyes met shocked sapphire eyes and a twitch of a smile played around the edges of Sherlock’s mouth.

“Long enough, Doctor Watson, long enough,” Sherlock leaned down and whispered into John’s ear, tickling the shell, “How long has this been part of your routine when I’m not at home?”

John was momentarily lost in the sensations spreading from the whisper of contact from Sherlock’s lips. He could imagine Sherlock’s face just grazing his tongue along the outer shell of the ear he was enjoying right now, and he could see how easily Sherlock would have his way if John did not answer.

“L-long e-enough,” John stuttered trying to calm himself and the blood that was heating up, “S-since before we got to-together at any rate,” he shivered from anything but cold,“It’s the only bit of s-single behaviour I allow myself when you’re not home. We’re normally together all the time so...”

“So when Lestrade needs me, and I let you lay in...,” Sherlock took half a step back to admire John’s semi-nakedness once more, “You do this?”

John nodded with his hands clasped behind his back, the military man in him refusing to be admonished for enjoying himself.

“And, you like to do this, do you?” Sherlock stepped closer again so John could feel the fabric of Sherlock’s coat against his skin.

“It’s a stress reliever.”

Sherlock narrowed his gaze on his partner, “I thought I was your stress reliever?”

“It’s different. A different kind of relief, Sherlock. I just... I just like to feel a little free, that’s all. Here, in our home.”

Sherlock stepped back and flung himself into his leather chair amd looked thoughtfully at John. His eyes looked as though they were cooking up some scheme that had a rather beneficial result judging by the smile on his face now but John couldn’t possibly know what that was.

“Sherlock, what are you thinking?” John asked penseively.

“I’m thinking that I would like to see you do your little dance again. Only with a bit of a twist.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Yes,” Sherlock paused, and John thought he saw a lick of desire darken those pale china blue eyes marginally, “You must dance to whatever I play next and take off your last remaining items of clothing. Afterwards, I will ravage you quite thoroughly because you have given me this raging hard on.” 

Sherlock locked eyes with a fast breathing John, but let his hands wander down his body with a spread palm inch by inch to his rapidly engorging member in his lap through his pants and held it for just a moment. 

In that moment, John read Sherlock like he was the self trained and titled consulting detective. Sherlock missed him this morning; feels really horny, a combination of seeing John in next-to-nothing, and his gyrating; Sherlock wondered about John’s single behaviour and what that even meant. Perhaps the most importantly though, John knew that Sherlock wanted to devour him.

Right. Bloody. Now.

Equally important to what John could tell from his five second once over on his detective was what he felt in response. He wanted Sherlock to devour him, savour him, lick him within an inch of his life. Say about, ninety seconds ago.

Careful to not break contact with Sherlock’s china blue eyes, John flicked his wrist towards the iPod stand again, and the music sounded clearly from the beginning of Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy” and John started to move his solid waist and hips in time with the music.

Sherlock shifted slightly in his chair, begun to remove his scarf and coat discarding them on the floor with little care. He quickly shifted in his seat to take off his shoes and socks in much the same fashion – quickly – never breaking the gaze of his lover.

John decided that the best course of action for him was to forget Sherlock was there for a little while, and to try to lose himself in the music, so he decided to sing along with the music.

“I’m too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts...” John began to sing along with Richard Fairbrass.

As Sherlock begun to unbutton his shirt, John began to thrust his pelvis powerfully in time with the music causing Sherlock to moan at the sight of his lover’s strong and forceful angles while his arms moved in time together in time with the beat of the music. Sherlock rushed to shuck off the rest of his shirt when John somehow managed to remove both socks with one hand and amazing flexibility you wouldn’t think a soldier would own, but John did.

“I’m a model, you know what I mean. And I do my little turn on the catwalk... on the catwalk...,” John continued singing.

Sherlock stood up as a gush of breath left him watching John parade the living room and the shake his fine posterior at him, while Sherlock unfastened his trousers swiftly belying the dexterity of his violinist fingers and stepped out of them as John continued to bounce, thrust, swing and generally move to the beat of the music.

“You’re loving this aren’t you, Sherlock? Watching me do this for you,” John turned his back to Sherlock and shook his arse at him like a juicy treat.

Sherlock could only grunt rather ungraciously as until saw John hook his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, as after that moment Sherlock’s mouth went dry. One slow tug and John revealed a creamy cheek to Sherlock in a tantalisingly slow fashion and turned back slightly to see the reaction that it left behind with his detective who always saw far too much.

Sherlock’s pale blue irises were eaten by his dilated pupils taking the expanse of the eyes. You all but could have taken Sherlock for a living statue at this point but for his shallow breathing. It was so tough for him to talk that when he finally could, it came out throaty.

“John, I... honestly think that... you are loving this equally to me, if not more... exhibitionist. You know you...,” Sherlock couldn’t finish.

John had swept his boxers down past his arse and knees revealing himself in full glory, and stepped out of them pointedly as Sherlock gold-fished at him. He could do nothing else as he took in his partner’s tanned skin and cut muscles in all of the right places. His broad shoulders telling Sherlock stories he could repeat at a later time when he was more able to conduct a conversation. 

This power remained lost to him when his doctor began to dance again to Right Said Fred’s “Don’t Talk Just Kiss” and sing along in time and perfect pitch.

Sherlock had to wonder to himself for a moment, while watching John’s impressive show, how John had managed to keep his singing talent from him. Then realised that he had also kept from him his apparent taste in stereotypical gay anthems and dancing like a go-go dancer around their home. Sherlock had to concede to himself though, John looked bloody good doing it and threw all of his energy into his efforts.

Sherlock noted, gazing down John’s moving body, the firmness he wanted that lay between John’s legs had now fully risen at the exhibition he had placed himself in. Sherlock wet his mouth in anticipation, licked his lips slowly exciting his own passion until John met his eyes once more.

“Sherlock...? Do you want me to show you how to dance like this?” John asked as he stretched his arms about his head, boxers still swinging from his left hand, and allowed his hips to move freely finding their own pace swinging from side to side. His only response was a wheezing of breath that Sherlock had managed to squeeze out as his eye became captivated by the full on sight of John’s firm length that dancing of its own accord from John’s swinging hips, “Or would you like something else completely?”

John couldn’t quite believe how erotic this dancing could be, despite the obvious lack of finesse on his part. To see Sherlock speechless as he sat there in his leather arm chair, now nude, he could imagine the leather trying to stick to the heat of Sherlock’s skin, slightly sweaty now the heat flying through his body.

Sherlock eyed the boxers in John’s arms, the white standard issue should not have been a turn on in any way but they were. Even better for Sherlock was the fact that they no longer restricted his view, even as good as John looked in them. Sherlock often tried to convince his doctor to try not wearing any just once to experience the element of freedom there. This was an occasion Sherlock felt very happy that John had chosen to selectively drown his opinion out.

John gazed longingly at his consulting detective long enough to see that his mind was ready to be taken to the next level as it look like it was having fewer complicated thoughts. Sherlock’s pale expanse of skin teasing his eyes down towards the narrow waist and the thickness he also sported jutting from his lap, where all of the blood had gone to have a party.

John drifted over to Sherlock sitting in his leather chair and leaned down to place butterfly kisses along the side of his chiselled face and nuzzled into his neck for a moment smelling the mango moisturiser that still clung to his skin.

Sherlock’s lips twitched at being so close to his doctor and not returning the kiss. He found himself fighting an internal battle, until the moment passed and he followed through on his instinct to make his way to John’s mouth, teasing from him a moan and a gasp as his nipped as the doctor’s sensitive lower lip now and then.

Sherlock wanted more. He didn’t just want to taste the strawberry jam that flavoured John’s lips and chin, Sherlock wanted every inch of his doctor surrounding him. He wanted to be everything to John’s senses until they fused into one, so two pale hands pulled John forward onto Sherlock’s lap, two chests pressed against each other and their rapid heartbeats echoed each other almost making the sound of a hummingbird.

“John?” Sherlock questioned, as he kissed his beloved’s neck tenderly.

“Yes detective,” John shivered as the pleasure from his neck somehow managed to skip down his spine.

“I really want you. Right. Now. How do you feel about that?” Sherlock whispered before licking the length of John’s throat, running his hands softly over his back feeling every muscle twitch of its own accord.

“I think that, just for once,” John pulled back to look into Sherlock’s eyes, “You should really stop talking and get on with it!”

A smile flickered over Sherlock’s features which prompted his dimples as his blue-grey eyes lit up as he wrapped a hand under John’s chin and pulled him down for a kiss that had nothing chaste about it. Sherlock set the pace, and John tried to increase the intensity, tried to make Sherlock follow his lead and surrender to his control but Sherlock remained at his own steady pace controlling John subtly through his measured kisses. When Sherlock finally felt John submit, he increased the passion three-fold and drowned John in a maelstrom of intensity.

John’s hand stayed fast to Sherlock’s face, holding him close to ensure that Sherlock knew of the tenderness that lay beneath all of the passion. Every inch of their skin blazed as though they sat by a roaring fire, or were even consumed by one together.

Their breathing hitched when Sherlock ran a hand between their slick bodies now sparkling with perspiration, to John’s straining tumescence that lay trapped alongside his own, and he had to close his eyes tighter at the scorching heat of their cocks together as he tried to wrap a hand around them both and began to jerk them off together. A tear of pre-cum dropped onto Sherlock’s thumb, he couldn’t have said if it was from his own or John’s as they both began to weep ferociously, the coolness was a shock to his overheating body.

John tried to function but he found his brain blank as the sweeping motions from Sherlock’s hand brought gasps and moans to the both of them, and they fed from each other’s sexual hunger for what felt like hours, so much so that they became lost in each other, their senses controlling them until Sherlock clawed through the sexual haze to remember that he was supposed to be doing something more vigorous.

Running his left hand down John’s back, Sherlock surfed each of those muscles definition groups until he knew he had reached the tailbone and feathered his touch back up to John’s neck causing a frisson of pleasure to travel through him while Sherlock continued to fist him firmly.

John’s head began to sag to one side as Sherlock ghosted his touch around John’s firm arse cheeks, trying to mould each globe into his hand with his long fingers. John leaned down to capture Sherlock’s lips and moaned in pleasure as Sherlock’s tongue quested within his mouth, running over the roof of his mouth, every tooth... John had never thought that an inquisitive tongue could bring so much pleasure from just roaming a mouth but he was happy enough to store that in his memory banks for another time.

John had not immediately noticed that he no longer had a hand wrapped around his cock but on feeling two hands kneading his arse cheeks together and slowly prying them apart, he felt his attention shift to sensations that he couldn’t see. As Sherlock firmly squeezed said arse cheeks and pulled John as close as he could, John clung onto Sherlock for dear life with his thighs, one arm loosely around his neck as Sherlock stood and walked the few steps depositing John’s cheeks against the counter of their desk.

The change of angles brought Sherlock the control he wished despite John not fighting him for it any longer. He wanted John to follow his lead, follow his lead into their pleasurable torment. Sherlock nibbled and tongued John’s ear, breathing deeply so the air whispered and tickled, and a moan escaped the doctors throat lost to the onslaught of passion as the detective followed down the column of throat and nipped on John’s collar bone while John tried to keep Sherlock in place at his throat.

“Please... Sher... Need you now...”

Sherlock laughed warmly deep in his throat, nuzzling into John’s pectoral muscle darting his tongue out over John’s nipple causing John to gurgle in response, eyes rolling back in his head while he tried to maintain his clasp on Sherlock. Sherlock was not ready to give in yet, not when he had things he wanted to do with his doctor.

The consulting detective hummed around the nipple in his mouth zinging buds of pleasure through John before repeating the process on the other nipple before he moved lower on his doctor’s body, pushing him back against the desk for his own support kissing each rib until there was only an expanse of once well defined abs beneath his cupid’s bow lips.

John sighed and moaned at once when he felt a hot tongue delve into his belly button and proceed to tongue fuck him with a deliberate lack of speed. Each thrust went straight to John’s straining cock that had already been on the edge for a ridiculously long time, and lay throbbing between their lust-laden bodies.

Sherlock knew how close he was to taking John’s tumescence into his mouth, it was barely an inch below where he rimmed the delectable belly button, and he could smell the musky fragrance of John’s arousal that was for him an aphrodisiac but he had to wait until John was liquid and pliant, which mean prolonging this foreplay for a little while longer. Sherlock wanted John brought to the edge over and over again.

Sherlock cast his eyes up to John before blowing a mouthful of hot air over John’s belly button, and watched John’s head snapped up as the air spread lower to the tip of his cock. Sherlock waited a beat or two allowing John’s vision to focus on him before lowering his open mouth around John’s hard silky member down to the base of his thick shaft.

Sherlock swept his tongue around as much of John as he could without triggering his gag reflex before drawing John from his warm mouth inch by inch letting his tongue sweep the underside of John’s member until he was almost fully free from his warmth then made his mouth a vacuum, cheeks hollowing out around the glands and used his tongue to sweep, thrum and play with John’s hole where more pre-cum seeped out into his mouth and couldn’t hold back a small groan of pleasure.

“Aarrrunngh... I.... Mmmm,” John groaned in response to Sherlock groan around his member, bucking his hips thrusting himself into Sherlock’s mouth to get the friction he felt he needed.

Sherlock almost allowed him to keep going, wanting so much to allow John the pleasure of coming apart, but he wrapped a hand around the base of John and drew himself off ignoring the panted incoherent pleas of his lover.

“Not yet John. Soon,” Sherlock grinned down at his partner’s flushed skin. He pulled John to the edge of the desk once more, and got on his knees so they couldn’t see each other and stroked his face against each leg in turn from the knees.

“S-Sherlock... Please...” John pleaded, and the only response he got was Sherlock’s groan against his thigh which went straight to his throbbing groin once more. “You’re killing me, please...”

Sherlock hooked each of John’s legs over his shoulder and ducked his head to John’s cock nuzzling for a moment before lifting it with a firm grip around the base and licked the seam of his ball sack leisurely, prodding his tongue one moment, then swept over the soft skin that lay there while John trembled in pleasurable torment.

John let a groan slip from his mouth as he was once again pulled into a whirl of enjoyment and Sherlock renewed his attentions moving lower until he was licking at John’s perineum occasionally flicking at it with a firm tongue almost like a hummingbird. John’s breathing got shallower once again, faster, and when Sherlock pressed the tip of his tongue against John’s anus, John jerked toward him in anticipation trying to get Sherlock’s spear of a tongue within himself.

Sherlock continued to administer to John’s most private place while John tried to discern the tongues wiggles from swirls, and the flat from the point certain that he was going to burst at any moment. So when Sherlock pushed his pointed tongue into the private ring of muscles John tried to think of something to stop the barrage of pleasure that zinged through every molecule of his body.

When Sherlock removed his tongue John managed to take a breath before a lubed finger was inserted past that ring of muscles, gently thrusting in and out. John keened in pleasure as Sherlock curled the finger within him sending licks of desire travelling up his spine in spurts.

“More,” John managed to ground out through his teeth, “I want more of you Sher... More in me. Please.”

John gyrated his hips trying to produce more friction, and Sherlock had to hold his hips still to oblige and insert another finger into his heat scissoring gently to relax the muscles further.

Sherlock pushed his face into John’s perineum and sucked at the delicate skin surrounding his fingers as John surged his hips back and forth on the table writhing around.

John’s moans were starting to hit fever pitch as Sherlock rubbed along his prostate, and if Sherlock had had any inclination to remove his face from John’s most secret of places, he would have noticed John’s eyes rolling around attempting to focus on anything in his field of vision.

Sherlock opened the desk drawer finding the shape of the bottle he was looking for, and squirted into the palm of his hand to rub along his own bursting erection, while nipping an arse cheek before standing on once steady legs.

“John... John. Now?” He asked his semi-lucid lover, withdrawing his fingers to coat John’s hole with the cool lube.

“Hmm, y-yes... P-please,” John stammered out as Sherlock lined himself up and held one of John’s legs up at the knee, and pressed gently against the opening.

One long slow thrust, and Sherlock was halfway home moaning to himself, while John groaned in pleasure. One more push saw Sherlock stretching John around his throbbing cock.

“Oh my god, John... I can feel... Everything,” Sherlock puffed out, dropping a kiss on to John’s pectoral muscle, nipping at the skin. John’s muscles tightened around him. “ You ok?”

“Mmm... Feel so full. You fill me up,” John smiled looking into his lover’s lust blown eyes and noted the blush across his alabaster cheeks.

Sherlock drew himself out slowly, clinging to John’s hips and thrust himself in with sharp motion and drew back quickly, staring into John’s sapphire eyes, mouth open as he grunted out a breath and John clung his things to the sides of Sherlock’s body to suck him back into his heat.

For a time there was nothing but rasping breaths and groans, until Sherlock took hold of John’s pulsating member and worked him in time to his own thrusts. It wasn’t long until the good doctor was coating his stomach and Sherlock’s hand with his thick white cum as he gripped onto Sherlock’s arms.

“Uh, ooh, Sherlock,” John rasped searching for breath, “The things you do to me...”

Sherlock could only grunt again as his thrusts became more like short stabs plundering the depths of John’s arse. All it took was for John to run a finger through his cum and lick it from his finger for Sherlock to start to lose control, face contorting in pleasurable agony, and when John drew grabbed Sherlock’s hips urging him to go faster and deeper, Sherlock lost any sanity he may have owned.

“Coming John... Oh god, I am... I am...,” Sherlock groaned deeply into John’s ear, as he felt Sherlock swell and spurt within him.

Sherlock collapsed his head onto John’s shoulder and tried to control his wilds breaths, while John hugged his body close, cum and sweat mixing on their stomachs.

They lay for minutes against the desk lost in the sensations they had just shared; their post-coital glow shining around them like the sun, while their breathing returned to normal.

“Is single behaviour supposed to end like this, John?” Sherlock finally asked, laying kisses along John’s jaw-line to his mouth, planting the tenderest of kisses on his lips, so he could taste the remnants of John in his mouth.

John smiled, hugging his detective closer to him, not wanting him to move despite feeling Sherlock hardness dwindling, “Not normally, Sherlock. Though I imagine that some single behaviour can end like this, if discovered.”

Sherlock hummed, and tilted his hips back to withdraw from John’s now sopping heat. “Yes, well, I’m just glad that I don’t have any single behaviour, although if this was the result, maybe I should make something up? What do you think, John?”

“Oh, you don’t need single behaviour... You have a chemistry set, remember? And a skull. You use all of them whether I’m here or not, remember?”

“Yes. I suppose you’re right. I do have a tendency to shoot the wall, too. How is your back?” Sherlock brought John to sit up straight on their messy desk. John rolled his shoulders, testing their tautness and found nothing.

“I’m fine.” John looked up into his detective’s blush painted face, pupils still showing their desire, “But if, for some reason, you want to continue this, we can always have a shower. Get clean, and then maybe get dirty again?”

Sherlock shot John a wicked grin while John stood, steadying himself with his hands on Sherlock’s narrow hips for a few moments.

“John, if you keep doing that we’ll never make it to the shower,” Sherlock murmured in a sultry voice.

“Do what?” 

Sherlock looked down at where their bodies where currently joined by John’s hands stroking his flanks, and looked back up to John’s nonplussed face.

“If you insistently keep caressing my body like that, doctor, with your hands all over me... Keep doing that and we’ll get nowhere.”

John had an image of himself pushing Sherlock against the tiled shower wall and backed off a little.

“Shower. Did you say something about a shower?” He asked, his voice once again cloudy with desire. Fair turnabout was, after all, very fair after what he had just received.

“No,” Sherlock shook his head, “You did. I’m just going to rub your shoulders, relax your muscles and test your senses,” he continued, his voice became the embodiment of sin and scattered any thoughts John had entertained of fair turn-about.

“Shoulder rub? Good. Good plan that.”

“I know. It’s my plan, John,” Sherlock muttered, leading John through their flat to the bathroom.

Who knew single behaviour discovered could be so sexy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed, please review, let me know what was your favourite bit, and maybe I’ll tell you mine too!
> 
> Songs mentioned above can be listened to on YouTube and iTunes so you have a better idea of what John is dancing around to! It gave me a lot of giggles, so please seek them out and imagine John doing his thing!
> 
> Thanks for reading - RavenFox


	3. The Twinkie Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A box of Twinkies arrive with Sherlock's name on them, but John's never had one before... Can Sherlock find a way to share his favourite treat? Can John find a way to share that could get smutty?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys of 221B are back and they have... Well, read on and enjoy, they have fun!
> 
> WARNING: Smut here, so please be 18 to read! Also, food stuff, but not in an overly kinky way, I don’t know if I am ready for that, let alone John and Sherlock!
> 
> Disclaimer: I am sad to say it, but I still don’t own these characters! *sniff* As ever huge thanks to Moffat, Gatiss and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who brought them to us!! ;)

“Sherlock?” Mrs Hudson called, walking up the stairs to the boys flat noisy. She had taken the habit of being noisy on account of not wanting them to feel exposed if she walked in on them even though they hadn’t come out and said anything about them getting together. Mrs Hudson would only ever concede to herself that as much as she loved them, she was only their landlady, and some things should be left private.

“Kitchen, Mrs Hudson.”

“Oh, Sherlock… Is that a smoke circle on my ceiling?”

“Umm… No. It’s…, alright. Yes, it’s a smoke circle on your ceiling, simply put.” Sherlock replied keeping his eyes to the viewfinder of his microscope. He gestured in her general direction to come forward and she walked around the table looking at what she simply called “Sherlock’s science stuff” and resisted the temptation to look in her fridge.

“Package?”

“Yes dear. It just arrived for you, from America.” Mrs Hudson couldn’t see a scrap of space to put it down on, so she held on to it for a moment longer before it was lifted from her hands firmly.

“Who do you know in America, Sherlock?” John asked moving to the living room to deposit the box on Sherlock’s side of the desk.

Sherlock hadn’t seen John since the early hours of the morning when he had slipped from his bed this morning. He’d looked so soft and innocent that Sherlock had almost been tempted to stay lying awake next to him cataloguing his features as he went through a REM cycle. Looking at him now, all relaxed, he wondered how long John had been awake and why he hadn’t given him a good morning kiss. Sherlock mentally shook himself and thought, it’s not like I need a good morning kiss, exactly, just would be nice.

“Sherlock, dear?” Mrs Hudson brought Sherlock out of his internal thoughts.

“Hmm… Yes, the package… It’s from Mummy in America. Judging by the post mark on the box, I’d say she was in New York. She goes for three months or so every year, and every month she’s there she’ll send me a box of Twinkies.”

“Twinkies?” Came the joint response from John and Mrs Hudson.

“Yes, Twinkies,” Sherlock sighed at having to repeat himself, “Mummy took Mycroft and me to America when I was ten, and I wouldn’t eat anything, except for Twinkies for a whole week. Made me sick as anything, but it drove Mycroft mad which was part of the fun. Made Mummy laugh, and it’s our little private joke. She never forgets.”

Mrs Hudson shared a knowing look with John before walking over to pat Sherlock on the arm, “I’m going out dear, do you want anything?”

“Nope. Got my Twinkies and I am making this blood congeal at a faster rate than it would it left to congeal naturally, and so I have solved the case I am working on.”

“Okay then, John? Anything for you, dear?” She walked towards the door and gave him a peck on the cheek as she past.

“Thank you, but I think we have everything. I’ll only pop out if I have forgotten though, so don’t fret.”

“Okay boys. You behave yourselves. Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“That stain is going on top of you rent!” She said disappearing down the stairs muttering, “smoke, gun shots, whatever next?”

Sherlock simply set his head back to the microscope rather than rush to open the box of his obviously loved treats, ignoring anything that wasn’t to do with what he was actually looking at. Looking into the microscope to avoid looking at John who still hadn’t kissed him good morning.

John sat at the desk in the living room, typing away furiously. A report on a more recent case, Sherlock decided dividing his attention against his better judgement. Equally calling him to though, was the unopened box of Twinkies that sat on his half of the desk. If Sherlock was of a more poetic disposition, he would say that the box look dejected, but that was his mind playing tricks on him.

“Sherlock? Are you ok?” John asked, he’d been looking at Sherlock looking at the box of Twinkies, and he had not moved a muscle. John had tried to stay unaffected by Sherlock in the purple shirt that clung to every ounce of skin, but it was impossible, and Sherlock without a shirt was even harder to resist. How can you resist the one temptation that was built for you in mind? John wasn’t sure if god, if there was one, was on his side.

Sherlock stiffened on his stool and focused on the microscope once more, “Just fine. I mean, I am doing just fine John. Why do you ask?”

John closed his laptop slowly and clasped his hands together on it lightly, fighting the temptation to jump from his seat and run his fingers through the unruly dark curls atop of the only man he had ever loved.

“Well, you have been looking at the box for nearly ten minutes straight in pure silence. Why not just open the box and have one?” shrugged John licking his lips at the thought of Sherlock licking his lips in anticipation for something sweetly different.

“Mmm, no. Can’t.”

“Why not?” John asked and was greeted with a silent response until he asked again.

“If I open that box, and I start to eat them... Well I wont be able to stop. It’s like that advert... For crisps... Pringles I think they’re called. What’s that slogan...? You know, where you can’t... Stop.” 

Sherlock coloured lightly at the admission. Only his mother knew of the growing need he had developed on that trip, which stuck with him more than twenty years later. If Sherlock had felt the need to see a therapist of some kind, he knew that they would surely mark this as a turning point in his addictive personality which was in part, the reason he was as he is now.

Sherlock opened his eyes, unaware that he had closed them, and saw John standing in the kitchen by the fridge, a silent pillar of strength.

“So, what you are saying, is that you have some kind of Twinkie addiction?”

Sherlock didn’t need to look at John’s face to hear the laughter in his voice. For someone who could be barely above average intelligence at times, he also had his moments where he was blindingly astute. Then again, he had been learning from the worlds only consulting detective, and Sherlock had known that some of his smarts were bound to rub off on the older man at some point.

“No, I don’t,” he lied outright. Sherlock didn’t seem to think he should concede the truth so easily, despite being detected so early on.

“Sherlock, the very definition of being addicted is to depend on a substance, physically or mentally. This can mean an activity, like your self-proclaimed job needing another ‘fix’ when it’s over, or a substance that you can eat... Like you told me you can eat Twinkies. It fits. You have an addictive personality. Your past is the evidence on that.”

Sherlock pursed his lips in frustration, damning himself for being with a doctor, a smart one, “When did you swallow a dictionary?” he muttered quietly, “Didn’t think that was your cup of tea,” he said louder.

“Cup of tea?” John queried, confusion clouding his smiling face at the statement.

“Love one thanks. Don’t skimp on the sugar though. I need something sweet to compliment my savoury attitude,” Sherlock smiled.

John stood not moving for a moment with his mouth ajar while he replayed the last comments traded in his mind, and visibly shook himself smiling. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?

Sherlock tipped his head at his lover smiling tenderly. It was in moments like this that he couldn’t believe exactly how lucky was. Other partners would splutter indignantly, rallying against the diversion and instruction on instinct, he’d seen it many times before. Not John though. He always had his moments, when Sherlock knew he was possibly being very difficult, but he always came round. It had been that way since they first met, John just accepting him, and it reaffirmed for Sherlock time and again how lucky he was, and that he was to try not to mess it up.

Sherlock had to figure that it was that commitment to each other as friends and work colleagues first, followed by being partners and lovers that made John so accepting of him at home. In public with other people, however, was something else entirely different. John took it upon himself to try to get Sherlock to be more aware and caring of his reaction to others and their reactions to him. Just the other day, after solving a particularly interesting kidnap case, Sherlock had been gifted with another tiepin by the family as a thank you. He thought back to how he had shaken the box, and declared its contents and tried to palm it off onto John, but John had refused to take the box, and pinned a stare so severe on him that he had thought John’s eyes would pop from the sockets. Sherlock recalled the look and had to suppress a shudder. John Hamish Watson knew how to tame him alright.

“Sherlock?” John’s soft voice broke through his reverie.

“Yes, love?” Sherlock’s mouth slipped out before his brain could stop the endearment. Sherlock had wanted to talk about having a slight endearment when they were at home. Only when they were at home mind, but he hadn’t quite gotten round to discussing it.

John simply blinked to acknowledge it and continued; knowing Sherlock probably hadn’t said it consciously. Never in the few months they’d been together had either of them used such a term. They had purposefully avoided it, in case they were around people, their relationship not being made public, despite the fact that everyone had their own opinion. The only 3 people that were likely to have any idea were Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Mycroft. John also suspected Molly had an inclination, as she had been less nervous around Sherlock for a little while now, but he couldn’t be sure.

No, they had their unspoken no PDA rule, unspoken no terms of endearment rule, and John had kept to that, out loud anyway. In his mind he had been trying out different little names to see what would suit best, if they ever decided to discuss it. But they hadn’t, and so John had kept quiet. He knew he was waiting for Sherlock to make a move that he was comfortable with. John wasn’t sure he was there yet.

“I was going to ask, would you like a Twinkie with your tea?” 

Sherlock looked at John with a sort of alarm on his face, clear eyes wide and mouth ajar much like John’s had been shortly before. 

“I was hoping that if you did want one, you would let me have one too, being that I’ve never had a Twinkie before in my life. I’m intrigued about what they taste like to have you so hooked,” John smiled tentatively, twinkling his sapphire eyes glancing at the box on Sherlock’s desk and back to Sherlock in the kitchen.

“Sorry?” Sherlock froze after his jaw fell further open. Sharing Twinkies would mean he’d have less to stretch until the next shipment, he thought to himself, and Mummy didn’t exactly send an email to say when a box was on it’s way. These Twinkies were his. Sherlock looked at John to tell him where to get off his bike, when he looked into those sapphire orbs that wield a kind of control all by them self. The Twinkies were his, but so was John, if Sherlock wanted to share, and he wasn’t altogether sure that he could, he would share with John.

“Share... Right. I can share a few Twinkies with you. Tell no one though. Definitely do not tell Mycroft. He’d have a hissy fit at Mummy, and I wont have that. Not to mention the fact I’ll never hear the end of it about sharing.”

“Because we’re the best of friends, your brother and me. Each time he kidnaps me, it’s so he can get closer to me and be my friend,” John snorted, “I’ll not tell a soul, Sherlock. Promise.”

Sherlock unfolded himself from the stool by his chemistry paraphernalia, and went to the box pulling his penknife, while John finished making the tea. When John came in though, Sherlock was still standing with the penknife in hand, visibly trying to talk himself into it.

Sherlock glanced at John, “Good thing I trust you, John. These are precious to me. Like my mind, like you. Not in that order though,” Sherlock frowned and pressed the knife to the seam of the box, and slashed open the box.

John eyed the contents of the box dubiously, resting a hand on Sherlock’s waist subconsciously, caressing the purple material that was stretched across his body. He saw many cellophane encased finger doughnuts less the icing and made of sponge. John inhaled deeply and his lungs were filled with a sweet smell, but not sickly. He couldn’t quite place the smell, but he was determined to figure it out.

“What exactly is in a Twinkie, Sherlock? Besides the calories.”

Sherlock held one cellophane covered Twinkie in his hand reverently, “Twinkies contain many things. The larger ingredients are things like enriched wheat flour, sugar, corn syrup, niacin, water. They have high fructose corn syrup in there too along with shortening. Lesser ingredients vary from recipe to recipe, but they may normally contain beef fat, dextrose, whole eggs, acid sodium pyrophosphate, mono-calcium phosphate, polysorbate 60...”

“I get it Sherlock. Basically lots of scientific names for foodstuffs unknown to most of the world. I bet they were half of the reason you liked it so much as a kid... Probably still a reason you like them.” John looked at a grinning Sherlock who was trying to not look ecstatic. The complicated words Sherlock had said had gone straight through John, making him feel flushed.

“They’re really tasty too.” 

Sherlock leaned down and stole a kiss from John, sweetly caressing his lips and drawing out from him the sweetest little moan. The flush on John’s skin deepened to Sherlock’s approval.

“How do you eat them?” John asked when he recovered his voice, “What I mean is, other than popping them in your mouth, is there a particular way to eat them, to enjoy them? I’ve heard of deep fried Twinkies, but it also makes me think of deep fried Mars bars, not my kind of thing at all.”

“They deep fry Mars bars? What, to eat?” Sherlock asked affronted.

John smiled up and Sherlock and held a hand to his face and moved his thumb lightly over the skin on his cheek. Those precious sharp cheekbones, and he thought back time to The Woman made a comment about how sharp they were. Things had changed so much since then, but not those cheek bones.

“Yes, to eat, up north somewhere, maybe even a whole district or two for all I know.”

“I’ve deep fried a Twinkie before. Not to eat, just to experiment on. When it comes to eating them though, I prefer simplicity every time.” Sherlock handed one to John before unwrapping his own slowly, savouring the moment.

“What kind of simplicity?” John’s mind was already racing ahead on what he was doing, how he could get Sherlock to put on a show of some kind, without necessarily realising it. John’s synapses fired more steadily at the erotic sight he was likely to see, Sherlock’s lips stretched over a Twinkie, imagining that it was his own member within the confines of Sherlock’s mouth. He could almost feel Sherlock’s cupid bow lips enclosed around his most sensitive of spots, teasing him into oblivion with the flick of his tongue.

“John? John are you okay? You look like you went to cuckoo land or something. If you’re not going to pay the Twinkie a certain amount of reverence, maybe you shouldn’t have one.”

Sherlock went to snatch the Twinkie back from John, but he had stepped back in anticipation of the move. Sherlock’s pale blue eyes shone with playfulness as he focused back in on his own Twinkie. “To eat it, all you do is... Well, I do it like this for the first few...” Sherlock opened his mouth wide, tilted his head back and lowered the Twinkie into his mouth slowly, inch by inch remaining whole until he closed his jaw around the whole Twinkie, watching John’s face flush a deeper shade of cerise.

John also did not want to register that the flush on his face had in fact spread lower, and was reaching his groin in anticipation along with blood from various parts of his body, and truly John felt he had no choice but to surrender to the firmness now poking in his jeans. He focused on Sherlock, really focused, seeing him from a different angle gave John a chance to see what Sherlock likely looked like while he was wrapped around his cock.

Sherlock’s Adam’s apple bobbed gently as he swallowed the sweet marshmallow substance down his throat, and smiled sideways at John in a lazy cat-like manner with his eyes half-mast, “That’s my favourite way of eating a Twinkie. You try finding what works best for you.”

John wet his lips while watching Sherlock’s, and swept his tongue along the soft flesh of his lips before licking the sponge-like Twinkie. The first sweet taste that sprang to life reminded John of American honeyed pancakes that you could get from IHOP, and it was a tempting sweetness. Watching Sherlock watch him, John decided to test the texture of the Twinkie next, approaching it like a scientific experiment, much like Sherlock would test something new, cataloguing everything possible.

Sherlock’s pupils weren’t fully blown, but the desire in those blue-grey eyes was evident, along with the faint blush on his alabaster skin, and John wondered if his own reaction to Sherlock looked anything like this, he’d need to ensure they have mirrors dotted in convenient places, he noted for the future to make sure for himself. Or were Sherlock’s reactions different because he was so new to the feeling on this level of sexual intensity.

John nestled the end of the Twinkie in his mouth and pressed his lips around it, breaking through the sponge like substance and the marshmallow, holding the rest in his hand once more. He knew marshmallow had stuck to his lips somewhere, but that was all the better to drive Sherlock insane.

The white marshmallow was spotted on John’s bottom lip by Sherlock once John’s hand was away from his mouth, and all he wanted to do was lick it off, slowly. It just sat there, teasing him, much like his unconscious calling John ‘love’ and John’s near non-reaction teased him. What did John’s simple blink mean anyway in response to something like that? Sherlock had to file that away in his mind palace to be looked at later, at a less pressing time. 

In their relationship, Sherlock often found himself putting his own restrictions on his feelings, or more importantly on expressing them. He didn’t want to scare John with the amount of thoughts he really had, the drip effect - little by little - was the best way he thought, everything else got put in the wing of his mind palace that he had designated to John for feelings, touches, smiles, jokes and words. There were secret rooms within rooms filled with John, and Sherlock loved it there. John had no idea how much he occupied his mind.

John snuck his pink tongue out from his lips slowly and watched Sherlock’s eyes zero in on the movement as he swept over the mallow before retracting it. Sherlock had looked lost in thought there for a moment, but he was back, John made sure of it.

“Sherlock? I need you to do something for me before I eat the rest of this Twinkie,” Shit, John thought to himself, is that my voice, all gravelly and rough. Sounds like I need liquid. No, only one thing I need, he decided.

“Anything,” Sherlock’s voice was but a whisper.

“I need you to lick the marshmallow on my lips. Just lick it off, maybe you’ll need to suck it off a little. I would do it, but as it’s your Twinkie, I guess that you need it more than me. Will you?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened to a point that John could no longer make out the colour of his eyes, all that was there was an expanse of black pupil settled in the whites of his eyes.

“I will. I really will,” Sherlock whispered as he moved closer to John’s lips, breathing n the smell of the Twinkie mixed with the earthy smell of John in the morning. Sherlock grazed his lips once, twice, before dragging his tongue along John’s to scrape the marshmallow off then delving his tongue within the warmth of his doctors mouth, feeling his tongue writhe by his own, and Sherlock failed to suppress a moan from within. “You know I missed having a good morning kiss when you came down. I practically wanted to push Mrs Hudson out of the door for being here when you came in.”

John laughed short and deep into Sherlock’s mouth before leaning back a little. “Now that would have set the cat among the pigeons. I know she loves us very much, but I don’t want to send her to hospital, I don’t care if Mrs Turner had married ones when I moved in here, it would be too much for her to watch, I reckon, and I really wouldn’t want her too.” He kissed Sherlock softly, hand settling on the belt loop of his black trousers resisting the temptation of removing the most favoured purple shirt to get to Sherlock’s skin.

“She’d be fine, she’d survive... Wouldn’t be able to look at us for a few days in the eye, but... It would be nice to be... Oh never mind.” Sherlock rushed, and swooped down to take John’s lips once more, but John pulled back.

“Wait, did you want to tell her? I mean, actually tell her straight... That we’re not straight? I didn’t think you wanted anyone to know.” 

Sherlock saw the confusion evident in John’s eyebrows and wanted to kiss it away. 

“I thought you wanted us to stay secret for a while longer!”

“I... I honestly don’t know, John. I like having you all to myself, but there is a part of me that really hates sneaking around. I don’t care what people think of me, you know that, I just care what people think of you. More importantly perhaps, I know you care about what people think about me, and you... Look at how long we spent fighting our feelings to be together, avoiding the labels so we could just be us,” Sherlock lowered himself so his eyes were level to that of his doctor, “Whatever happens, it has to be a decision we both make. I’ll not make it without you, love.”

John stared into the suddenly pale eyes and tried to calm his rapid heart rate. He couldn’t believe his ears, and after trying to figure Sherlock out time and again, he’d been beaten to the punch for honesty and he was almost speechless, “Do you know what you just did?”

Sherlock leaned in and rubbed his nose against John’s while he formulated a suitable answer. He had excuses piled up waiting to be used, but he abandoned them for the truth, “I just called the man I love, ‘love,’” Sherlock drew his face further back so John could see him smiling clearly, “I know we haven’t discussed it, but I figured that while we are safe in our own home at least, we can give each other little nicknames, terms of endearments, but I won’t answer to ‘Sweet-cheeks’. You’ve been warned!”

“I’m glad you brought it up, because I’ve thought about it... I think love is a good place to start... I don’t know what suits you best but I’m happy to work it out. Now can I ask you a very important question?”

“Anything?”

“Can I please finish my Twinkie? Before it oozes elsewhere. We can share it, have a new interesting way to eat them together?” John asked, holding the Twinkie between them playfully watching as Sherlock’s eyes slid from his face to the dessert food in his hands.

“How would you possibly share this? It’s almost all gone.”

“Open up... Now bring those lips down around your end... Wait...,” John instructed Sherlock, as his plan to devour the Twinkie formed, “Now I’ll put the other side in my mouth, then we both eat the rest.”

John slipped the other part of the Twinkie in his mouth and was reminded of the Disney movie The Lady and the Tramp with the spaghetti, although what he had planned to follow would be a darned sight more interesting than any Disney movie.

John moved his mouth closer to Sherlock’s without squeezing the Twinkie that lay on his tongue and allowed their lips to touch, with the shock of touch Sherlock tried to thrust his tongue to John’s only to remember the Twinkie. Ice blue-grey eyes met sapphire ones as the honeyed flavour was superseded by the marshmallow that eked onto their tongues. John swallowed first, the savoury taste of Sherlock mingled in with the sweet taste of the Twinkie jolted through him as he brought his hands to Sherlock’s face. John had wanted those tempting cupid bow lips all morning since he had woken up alone, and even though he was used to waking up alone, he craved Sherlock more than normal for it today.

Sherlock found his hands in John’s short sandy hair to keep him close. Two of his favourite things in the world were on his tongue at the same time as he swallowed in a sliver of air before moving John backwards by the strength of his kiss, only slightly aware of where he was going and when he felt the tingle of age in the air around him, he knew he’d hit the bookcase, but he didn’t want to look anywhere that took his eyes away from John. His small stalwart doctor who stood by him at every turn and always showed him something new. His inventiveness opened Sherlock’s mind in so many ways. Luck wasn’t close enough for Sherlock to describe what he really was.

John revelled in the sensation of Sherlock’s tongue next to his duelling for dominance, equally wanting to take the other to new heights. It was the way Sherlock could take control with that sense of innocence about him that drove John wild, as if he were always allowing John the possibility of taking the reins of where their passion should go. It was something that he did in fractions of their life, in work, everyday things, he’d sometimes let John take the lead to try to see how a crime was committed, and not just his medical approach even though he probably knew already. John loved the fact that Sherlock might not have said it in so many words, but he knew John was his equal. It was the knowledge that fuelled him now as his hands travelled down the body of his lanky lover and swept back to open the buttons swiftly so he could put his hands on his skin removing the most favoured purple shirt.

“Umph,” Sherlock moaned into John’s mouth before pulling away, his face was flushed and his pupils were attractively blown once again, John could feel his length pressing against him through their thin layers and John was grateful for the bookshelf helping to keep him upright, “Another Twinkie?”

“Sod the Twinkie, Sherlock. I want you,” John said before he brought his lover back down to his lips firmly and devoured his sweet tasting lips while the book self stuck him in the back casting a sharp relief to pleasure and pain. John wanted Sherlock to feel this combination, wanted Sherlock to come undone, to have so many sensations that his brain shut down... John wanted Sherlock to feel what he felt by just looking at him.

With a quick manoeuvre John had Sherlock’s back against the bookcase ledge and a few books rattled around them as John’s hand found Sherlock’s belt loops, and by the sense of touch alone the belt buckle to loosen it, and the zip followed, and the button followed it’s predecessors before John stroked through the thin trouser material on Sherlock’s rock hard erection that seemed to jump toward his fingers as Sherlock’s breath came harder and faster through his fully kissed lips.

John stood between Sherlock’s long legs that were sprawled open as though their owner had ceased using them, and used his hands to sensitise Sherlock’s face and neck with the lightest of touches, placing a kiss here and there while Sherlock’s hands lay prone around his doctors waist. A quick bite of Sherlock’s ear lobe brought a strangulated sound from Sherlock and a gratifying moan from John as he worked his way lower on his neck and down to the pale chest that always teased him so.

John knew that the body of Adonis was before him, and he felt that he had to worship him, taking a nipple into the mouth and tugging slightly. John couldn’t think as his mind focused on one thing once again and he set himself in determination to Sherlock before drawing his fingers slowly down his sides to his hips listening for the electrifying gasps that only increased as John began to tug Sherlock’s trousers down inch by inch, caressing the ethereal skin that lay beneath and following it with kisses while Sherlock could only look on.

“John?” Sherlock whispered, he could only whisper, knowing that his voice was sure to sound husky and full of the need that he felt at every nerve ending, “John, I need you. Right now... Will you, please? Will you take me?”

John’s oxygen left him in a rush as he looked up into his detective’s eyes and what he saw there was honest to god need. Sherlock needed him to take control this time, needed it like John needed to caress every inch, every molecule that was owned by one Sherlock Holmes, a man who looked so captivating that he could make even the most heterosexual of males wonder about what it would be like to know the touch of another man.

“You want that? Me to... Right here against your book case?” John watched breathlessly as Sherlock was compelled to nod and lick his lips, and John mirrored the action, thinking of the many ways he and Sherlock had already made love since they had gotten together. It was usually Sherlock who pushed their boundaries, introduced a new place, John thought. Today it was obviously the bookcase that Sherlock currently leaned against, “Alright then, you wait right there!” John instructed as he stepped away from Sherlock to find the living room bottle they kept.

“Yes, oh yes John. Please,” Sherlock moaned as he watched John look through their desk drawers with a sense of military precision. Sherlock was dying to touch himself, to feel how hard he was, but he wanted John to touch him first bare skin on skin. He couldn’t deprive John or himself of that first moment, he didn’t have to wait long for John to return to him and pull him into to a slow and torturous kiss.

Sherlock tugged at the buttons on John’s shirt and removed it with little ceremony, revealing his lightly tanned chest and stomach which he caressed before pulling on John’s trousers with a sense of urgency try to get them down his legs.

“Slow down,” John smiled trying to still Sherlock’s hands.

“No. Need you now. Can’t wait, John.”

John stepped into Sherlock stilling him and wedged him against the bookcase and kissed him. It was slow at first, too slow for Sherlock who tried to deepen the kiss, make it harder, faster, but his impatience didn’t spread to John who basically held the controls and waited for Sherlock to be on the same page as him. He didn’t just want urgency, he wanted that connection, their connection. He wanted Sherlock to feel everything, every detail to put into his mind palace so when he was bored he could play them over, as John knew he did.

John kicked of his trousers that had been left at his ankles, and swept off his boxers in one fell swoop, and then moved to Sherlock, tugging his trousers and boxers down over those long legs that he loved to run his hands over. Once removed John kissed his way back up the miles of pale legs grateful that Sherlock didn’t always wear shoes around the house even when he was dressed to the nines.

“You’ll wait for as long as I want you to Sherlock,” John stood for a moment placing a hand on the sleuth detective, “Now lean back please, and hold on to something, you may need it.” 

“Why will I...Oh!” Sherlock lost motor-neurone function as John’s warm mouth swooped down and took in his most rock hard cock and laved over the weeping head before taking Sherlock down to the base humming slightly, “J-Jo-John... Oh god!”

John’s hands swept up and down the moving marble toned skin that was Sherlock and scratched along here and there, drawing illicit moans and gasps as his hands settled over Sherlock’s cheeks and a hand parted them pulling and moulding each arse cheek and then his hands left Sherlock wondering what was going on as he clenched his eyes shut to be further lost in the feeling.

A short hum around his cock had Sherlock moaning once again while John manoeuvred a well lubed finger between his cheeks once more seeking the deepest treasures, and at the urges of the man above him soon had John inserting two more fingers stretching him in preparation while Sherlock writhed and moaned louder.

“Now John... Now please.” Sherlock begged him, and it was all the encouragement John needed at this point as he slicked himself up. He’d been hard and weeping pre-cum for so long that he was sure there was a patch on the floor, he removed his fingers slowly at Sherlock’s whimper as he stood and swept one of Sherlock’s long legs up over his shoulder before lining himself up and pausing. John checked the eyes of his lover who bit his lip and nodded a sharp consent before John pushed forward, embedding himself within Sherlock’s ring of muscles, panting.

“Oh God,” they groaned in unison. Sherlock was perched at just the right angle as John surged his hips forward holding onto Sherlock. He hit his prostate first time, and Sherlock couldn’t contain the shout of pleasure that was boiling away in side of him as John hit that same spot again and again.

“Oh John, I feel... I...” Sherlock tried to say something but gave up. Every nerve ending was feeling ecstasy, alive, they zinged in time with John’s own body, with every thrust and caress, so much so that when John felt the tightening spiral at the base of his spine Sherlock stiffened too.

“Love,... I’m close,” John managed to puff out reaching for Sherlock’s own straining erection that bobbed between their bodies.

“No, keep going, you don’t... I’m that close behind you, don’t stop.”

John captured Sherlock’s lips hotly before he plunged into him again, losing himself in the muscles that clenched around him and looking into the palest blue eyes he’d ever seen. When he came, the first spurt set off Sherlock’s own release over their stomachs as John continued to move to the rhythm of their racing hearts and their panting breaths.

John tried to catch his breath and planted Sherlock’s leg back to the floor. He looked into Sherlock’s eyes and saw him processing, trying to copy everything to his hard drive to remember. John could feel the flush that still lay across both of their bodies, and he couldn’t think of any place he’d rather be, even at eleven forty-five in the morning when at least one of them should be working on something.

He pulled out slowly and wrapped his arms around his lanky lover, pulling him in for a kiss or two while their bodies cooled.

“I like this bookcase. It makes you the perfect height for me,” John joked reaching for the box of tissues on the mantelpiece to clean them up with, “Maybe next time we can do something with a twist.”

Sherlock grabbed a few tissues and tried to help a smiling John, but only succeeded in making more of a mess on their bodies. “Hmm, yes... But see, I can think of a place that is perfect for the both of us.”

“Oh yeah. Where would that be then, love?” John threw the tissues to the bin drawing Sherlock to stand on his legs.

“The bedroom, obviously. It’s soft there, and I wont have a shelf in my back... Although I am hoping for something else...!” Sherlock grinned cheekily, picking up his discarded shirt from the floor but leaving the trousers as he walked towards the bedroom, “If you make sure our door is locked, and bring that box through to the bedroom, I can think of a few interesting things we can do with Twinkies. You should like the first one I have in mind!”

John waited until Sherlock had disappeared up the stairs to their room - John’s room really, but who else really cared? - before checking their flat door was locked and deadlocked, in case Mrs Hudson decided to come back to chat. 

John paused for a moment and smiled at the thought of telling people, going public to their friends and family about their relationship. It was the natural next step, and Sherlock had said it first. This made John happy because he now knew that Sherlock thought there was a future for them beyond what they were doing now behind closed doors.

With contents of most of the box in hand, John made his way to their room. He didn’t feel the need to let Sherlock know that he had hidden some Twinkies about the flat in case they felt the need for them. They were to be emergency Twinkies, in case the need arose in the future.

They were out of Twinkies long before Sherlock’s next delivery arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are enjoying the Against The Counter series. This is also out on FF.net under the same author name. There are a fair few chapters to go, and I try to put include a little of everything. Let me know what you think!! ;)
> 
> PS: comments are like strawberry jam - which I love - so please feel free to leave them, I really don't bite... ;p


	4. The Cupcake Conundrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and most recently adapted by BBC Messers Moffatt and Gatiss! They rock my world. Really, they do.

Sherlock stood in the kitchen with a cookery book on baking he had borrowed from Mrs Hudson and read through the instructions. Essentially it was no different to a science experiment that he would carry out in the name of solving a crime, except Sherlock was doing this for love. For the love of his army doctor. For the love of John Hamish Watson.

It wasn’t John’s birthday, or a major point in his life with something to celebrate, but Sherlock wanted to celebrate him. Well, them, and them finally finding each other, as the last two months had been the best of his life, and knowing how many good cases he’d solved in his life that had made him feel great, this was a testament to how much Sherlock saw himself growing in life.

He looked through the list of ingredients he would need, and knew with a certainty that they did not have one thing in their cupboards that was in the book, but he looked anyway, opening one cupboard door with a flourish to find glasses that didn’t belong, and to find kitchen equipment he didn’t even know they had. Luckily for Sherlock, there were two cupcake trays at the back of the cupboard that held the pots and pans, that would allow him to make twenty-four cupcakes at once.

“Perfect, just perfect,” Sherlock muttered to himself while making a mental list of everything else he would need before sweeping into the living room to collect his coat and scarf from the back of the door and checking for his wallet. He knew now why Mrs Hudson had initially offered her help, she know that the boys of 221B would not have anything other than the bare minimum to bake anything, unless she had somehow missed it when she had cleaned up. Sherlock only wished that she hadn’t left for a few days to visit her sister, as she would have been a great help. If Sherlock felt he was out of his depths at all, which was never under normal circumstances.

Checking his watch as he left 221, he knew that he had at least three hours before John had finished being a locum for the day at another doctors surgery not too far away. Sherlock estimated that he could be in and out of the supermarket within twenty and be back and whipping up a storm of cupcakes before John came back.

Sherlock had long since accepted that when it came to things to do with John, he didn’t always act the most rationally. In the past he had been jealous of other people’s connections to him, whether they were romantic or not, it had made no difference to him. He just knew that John felt like,... Well, his, and always had done. Sherlock knew what Mycroft would surely have to say about it. ‘Feelings aren’t an advantage, Sherlock.’ That feelings could disable the mind, but Sherlock didn’t care about that. All he knew is that he had found someone who understood him, loved him as he was, and that was the most important thing to him on every day, case or no case.

On arriving at the supermarket Sherlock became a whiz, flying up and down aisles with his coat flaring in his wake as he tried to find the ingredients he needed, being careful not to forget important things like food coloring, sprinkles, flavoring and a piping bag for the icing, and of course, cupcake sleeves. The basket was overflowing when he thought of the one bright red fruit John would appreciate more than anything else to top off the cupcakes before leaving with twin shopping bags of baking paraphernalia.

As Sherlock hailed a cab, his mind drifted to what John would think when he arrived home later that day. There would be surprised with a certainty, and if Sherlock was able to pull this off just right, there would be pride that Sherlock had been able to do something kind-hearted without any smart arsed remarks, that was his job.

Sherlock fumbled with his phone checking to see if Lestrade would interrupt his ingenious plan to woo his boyfriend when he thought he should check in with John. They rarely went the whole day without contact when he worked, always at least leaving Sherlock a text of good morning whether they had shared John’s bed or not, and Sherlock so wanted to make sure John would not be arriving early to ruin his surprise. He flipped out his phone and flicked his fingers over the buttons deftly and with ease.

_You must be busy today, I’ve not heard a peep from you. How are the sick? SH_

Sherlock hit send at the cab arrived on his doorstep, and he dropped a ten pound note with the driver before fumbling for his keys to get into the flat. It was odd, Sherlock thought, having to remember his own keys to 221B when John wasn’t with him, and Mrs Hudson wasn’t always home. Two years ago he would just arrive and he would get in, or break in as tidily as possible, but now he had been domesticated somewhat without losing any of his edge.

Sherlock dropped the bags in the living room first to take off his coat and scarf, and he turned to the iPod dock to play some music. He wasn’t planning on dancing around the flat, he just needed something to soothe him while he worked and Vivaldi’s Four Seasons would do just the trick. He discarded his suit jacket on his chair as the Spring Allegro sprang to life from the speakers and turned to look on his first obstacle.

The kitchen table was a mess. A Sherlockian mess, full of Holmes and not a drop of Watson.

Sherlock cursed in frustration and he was tempted to pull at his hair. This would take longer than he thought what with having to learn where everything goes - again - before deleting it after he had made the cupcakes.

“Cleaning, cooking...John will think someone has drugged me when he gets home.” He muttered heading to the table to clear away some of his experiments that had long since been finished with.

Sherlock sighed theatrically with a beaker in hand and a pile of research notes in the other, “The things I do for love!”

 

* * *

 

John was having a terrible day. He’d arrived at the surgery early so he could be settled into the room he was allotted earlier in the week, only to find that it was locked, and no-one seemed to have the key. It took over an hour into the working day before he had his room, one of the cleaners had locked it in error the night before, so he had sat in the office behind reception chatting to the ladies Laura and Louise, who seemed to want to know all about him.

It was only was only when Laura and Louise had tried to get him yet another cup of tea and drape themselves over him that the penny finally dropped what was really going on. John had uttered that he was involved and the girls carried on as though he hadn’t spoken a word, taking his statement as a flirting ploy.

As tempted as John may have been, he knew he couldn’t just come out and say “Excuse me, but I have a boyfriend and we are so very much in love, so please keep your mitts to yourselves.” Maybe someday soon he would be able to tell those closest to him. John knew though, that he would not be telling random colleagues first while he was locum at a local doctor’s surgery.

John’s day had only got worse from then on, once he was settled in a room. He was convinced there was a conspiracy of sorts which meant that he had only elderly patients who needed flu jabs, bloods drawn and fears allayed for the simplest things. John tried to get through them swiftly, ensuring maximum care was taken, but when they started to talk about their lives, John found he didn’t have the energy to engage them as he would have done once. Maybe it was his bad mood that was settling around him like a dark cloud, which got worse just before midday and his lunch break when a young woman and her daughter was put through to him.

This young woman, obviously only just in her twenties, held a fifteen month old in her arms whose face was almost as pink her romper suit and she did not want to seem to want to stop crying. The mother looked aggravated, like she had better things to do, even when John tried to pry from her some information about when the girl had started to cry, and the circumstances of what had happened just before then. The mothers’ features became pinched and closed and she couldn’t seem to remember what happened, having given at least two different versions already.

John examined the girl while she squirmed in her mothers arms while John checked her over. No fever, no visible rash - so thankfully no meningitis - no blockage in ears, nose or throat, and still she cried on. John checked her eyes for possible signs of concussion, and was considering directing them to A&E when her shrill cries tore at his heart strings.

John suggested to the mother that he try to calm her, a long shot, but John noted how little the mother tried, holding her at an angle, barely glancing at her. The mother stood and unceremoniously dropped her crying daughter in his arms, until little pale blues locked with his own deep sapphire eyes. The tears stopped, the shrill noise stopped, and the little pink face smoothed itself and peered at John carefully before breaking into a smile patting his face to keep his attention.

That was when he saw the mark on her shoulder as her romper suit ruffled, the bruise looked marled with different shades which suggested it had been used time and again to inflict pain, and John had to excuse himself saying that he needed a second opinion before making any decision on her daughters care. John knew he couldn’t be sure of what he saw as evidence, but that was why another doctor needed to asses the case, as he felt rage sweep up in his chest at an innocent being harmed.

Once the senior doctor, Doctor Rye, observed what John had they called the police to investigate and escort them to hospital. The mother maintained she had nothing to do with it, but there was emptiness in her eyes that John couldn’t place. That was what haunted him now as he ate his lunch in the little office.

John could honestly say that he could wait for the last vestiges of his day in the surgery to dwindle into nothingness so he could get home to his lovely, frustrating boyfriend, who was probably destroying the vague order that John himself had brought to the flat before he left. That being said, Sherlock did look amazing as he whirled through the flat creating merry hell with every step. John knew that half the reason he never reacted immediately to the chaos that Sherlock brought was because he was caught up in his somewhat poetic movements.

Going home to Sherlock definitely had its perks after the day that John had had.

* * *

Sherlock stood at the table surveying the second batch of cupcakes to have come out of the oven, and he hated to admit it to anyone save maybe John, but these did not look like edible cupcakes. They looked like a burnt rock substance that could possibly be tough enough to crack even the sturdiest tooth, there was possibly enough carbon in them to kill anyway, Sherlock hazarded.

He couldn’t be sure, but when he had mixed in the flour and egg to the butter and sugar mixture, it looked too close to something that had been taken from an autopsy on a stomach that hadn’t digested properly, not something he wanted John to eat. Now it was cooked though, all flat, solid and black, it still didn’t look very appetising.

“Icing. I need icing to make it look better,” he thought to himself out loud, looking to the box to make glace icing.

Sherlock followed the ingredients and method to the letter and slathered the icing over all of the burnt rocks he had so far made, and watched as it began to set with satisfaction. So the icing was lumpy and quite runny, and you could still make out the charred tops, Sherlock was just glad they were in cupcake cases, or else it would have been very bad indeed.

Looking over at the first batch of cupcakes Sherlock tried to discern where he had gone so drastically wrong. They weren’t burnt, but they had barely risen, and looking barely cooked, but surely, Sherlock thought, you can buy them part-cooked like pancakes, yes?

Surveying the kitchen, he realised what a mess he had made. There were piles of flour and sugar everywhere, and the egg that he had tried to break into the bowl earlier remained on the floor near the table. Normally he couldn’t care for the mess, but this wasn’t for him, it was for John, and John would care that it was a mess because he was fastidious about cleanliness. Humming along to Bach’s Cello Suite no 4 in E Flat, Sherlock began to clear the surfaces methodically one by one before he realised that he wasn’t alone, that there was someone else in the room and judging by the stunned silence, it could only be one person.

“Hello John. Good day?”

John was witnessing something he wasn’t ever sure he would see. The kitchen table was clear of all science equipment, some of the counters were something of a mess, but essentially tidy considering Sherlock was around. There was the smell of burnt baking, and John flicked his eyes over all of the counters until he found the pile of cupcakes on the side near some baking equipment. This was a shock.

“Umm, no. Not really Sherlock. To be honest it was awful, that’s why I am home early. What… have you… been doing? What... Is ...all of this mess?” John asked slowly casting his eyes around the room.

Sherlock stood by the sink and wished he had managed to wash up everything he had used, John was home earlier than he had thought, and this surprise was not going to plan at all.

“Cupcakes. I think. That’s what they look like, yes?” Sherlock said with his back to John.

“Y-yes. But Sherlock, what on earth are they for?”

“Well, I would have thought that obvious. They are for you. To eat,” Sherlock swung round to look at John and noted his sapphire eyes looked tired, and that under his eyes were beginning to look saggy. He looked like he would be happier sitting or rather collapsed in his chair, but instead he walked deeper into their kitchen with a questioning look on his face and no words. It made Sherlock want to talk, a little.

“There was a surprise case, and it had to do with baking. I thought that if I were to bake, maybe I would understand some of the process, rather than just read it. So I borrowed a cook book from Mrs Hudson... Made you cupcakes,” Sherlock nodded to the pile of rocks then looked John directly in the eye, hoping he would understand what the intention was.

“Did you solve the case?” John walked closer still to Sherlock. They were no more than two arms lengths away from each other now, and at such a close range John was able to see the mess that Sherlock had made of himself. Flour in his hair, on his face and on his shirt, and the batter mix had managed to splatter into some of the strangest of places on him, his earlobe being one such place that John wanted to take into his mouth and gently suck on. A deep intake of air told John that Sherlock has used too much vanilla, and had split some on himself too, and casting an eye by the sink he saw his favourite fruit, a punnet of strawberries.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and resumed a position that he took when he got all superior in showing how amazing his deductions were before he caught himself somewhat, when he opened his mouth there was no bite.

“Of course I solved it John. This is me we’re talking about. Don’t I always solve the case? Don’t answer that. A husband wanted to prove that his wife was otherwise engaged when she was supposed to be baking, and that is why dessert was chargrilled cakes. It can take twenty minutes to make very firm cupcakes, and twenty-five to thirty minutes to really get them biscuit crunchy. So what was the wife doing when she should have been cooking and cleaning up? Well there just happened to be the cable installation man who was forty minutes late for his schedule.”

“A little below standard for you, isn’t it, love? I mean that can’t have taken very long to figure out... Oh that’s why that batch there have icing on them? They are quite...” John looked up to Sherlock who was tense with anticipation.

“Well they are very different, Sherlock. Maybe not quite text book, but very good for your first go without any instruction,” John said gently trying to keep the condescending note out of his voice and succeeded.

“Well, John, I don’t know how good they taste. I mean, I’ve never made them before in my life. That I can remember, although it’s possible I may have deleted that at some point to make space. I don’t think they look very nice though,” Sherlock finished, before he braced himself for any ridicule and turned to look at John’s sapphire eyes directly.

John closed the distance between them and stepped into Sherlock’s body, drinking in the smell of the vanilla essence and cake mixture before drawing down those cupid bow lips to meet his own gently tasting each other’s lips before delving their tongues into waiting mouths. It was obvious to John that there may have been a case - however small - which Sherlock would not normally have looked twice at, but this would have provided the opportunity to do something kind, something for John. Something from the heart.

There were no words of gratitude that he could find in the moment to impress on Sherlock exactly how perfect this was, how this made his day amazing when it had been rubbish since he left him in bed this morning, so he deepened the kiss causing their breath to mingle and dissipate until they were breathing for each other, panting to find air.

Sherlock pulled away finally after seconds, no it must have been minutes as nothing that short could ever be as good as what he felt. Sherlock’s face was flushed, pupils dilated so that only a thin ring of pale blue iris was discernible. He caressed John’s face slowly with the palm of his own hand, and felt a trill of pleasure run through him when John placed a kiss in that same palm and darted his tongue out onto the flesh.

“You know, my day is suddenly looking better.”

“Really? I’m so glad,” Sherlock murmured, leaning down to John once more to caress those lips with his own cupid bows and a flicker of tongue.

“There is one thing that would make me absolutely ecstatic at this point, though,” John stepped away from Sherlock for a moment and went to hover over the rock cakes. Sherlock tried to read his face, but couldn’t. John’s normally expressive eyes were blank as was his face, which the detective was sure John did on purpose to throw him.

“What?”

John smiled at the meek question leaving his detectives’ lips, and he was struck at difference in confidence he had from solving a case to dealing with their relationships’ little moments, with it being so new.

“Well as much as I am grateful for you attempt at making me - us – cupcakes, they look like they could use some work. So let us work on it together. We’ll scrap all of this and start again, every little bit, and I’ll show you how to make fantastic cupcakes,” Sherlock nodded to John with a grin that broke through the worry and John nodded back with a smile, “Great, then you chuck those in the bin, and I am going to wash up everything else that you have used, and if you can get out the self raising flour, caster sugar, butter and an egg, we will get started shortly.”

Sherlock stood for a moment absorbing John’s calm but instructive persona and knew that in a crisis of any kind, the captain took the lead. And yes, Sherlock did like it and may have indulged in a moment or two where he thought of John in dog tags and not much else, but he was all too soon torn from that train of thought.

“The bin, love. Put them in the bin.”

Sherlock’s body flew into action following his captains instructions, and soon enough the kitchen was in a fit enough state to cook in thanks to the boys seamless anticipation of movements from each other. The way they moved was like a carefully constructed dance, with slight indicators that no-one else was able to notice but them. They looked as though they had been moving in the kitchen like this for years as opposed to minutes, but they had learned since becoming flat mates how to move around each other, familiar touches on shoulders and hip bones. Small smiles were thrown, and slight caresses were made reassuringly to each other, so they knew that they really were doing this together, until the crunch time came and all of the ingredients had been amassed on the kitchen table.

Sherlock stood hip canted out the side as he waited for instruction, and his nerves started to get the better of him and his foot started to tap without his consent. He wanted to make the perfect cupcakes with John. Sherlock wanted the cupcakes to be like them, perfectly balanced in every way, and he said as much watching John’s lips curl up into a slow smile that spoke levels of seduction that he would employ later but simply canted his own hip to Sherlock so they were joined somewhat lopsidedly.

“Right Sherlock, first step is to ensure you have all the ingredients at the correct weight. If we go for twelve cupcakes we need one hundred grams of flour, sugar and butter, and one egg. I want you to split each into a bowl of its own and not to mix anything yet.” John instructed casually, and he stood against the sink and saw as Sherlock’s back went ram-rod straight.

“You’re not helping?”

“I will be. You don’t need it yet, so don’t worry, think of me as a safety supervisor on a scientific experiment and you are the lead scientist.” John could see that Sherlock wasn’t quite convinced but decided to ignore it as the captain came to the rescue once more as he doled out the instructions on softening butter with the back of a spoon, then adding the sugar and beating with the wooden spoon.

John wondered how long it would take for Sherlock to complain of arm ache. That it was too tough, but he didn’t despite the faint pink blush that marred is cheeks showing the effort he was exuding. Sherlock would only pause every now and then to cast a look to John as if to check he should carry on and then Sherlock would continue after shaking out his hands to prevent cramp.

Eventually John took over the practical work instead of instructing but made sure to explain what he was doing, and let Sherlock see the different textures that made up the mixture at it’s stages until John plugged the electric whisk into the wall.

“What are you doing John? I thought we were doing this all by hand?” Sherlock exclaimed, alarm seeping into his voice as he stepped towards John.

“We have done the most of it by hand, yes, but I like to get the mixture like an airy foam, and to get that result you need to use the whisk for a few minutes and you will feel the light difference if I give it to you on a spoon. When it cooks, all the air will be in the mixture, which will help it to rise. Trust me love. I know what I am doing on this.”

True enough, John did know what he was doing. He hadn’t even looked at the borrowed cook book once he just seemed to know when it was ready to move on to the next phase. It was intuitive, much like Sherlock with scientific experiments.

“Oh... Oh, I think I get it now. Why the science is so clear to me, but not always to you. It’s like me with cooking. I’m not naturally good at it, but with dedication to practice, I could be. A good part of it is down to intuition, knowing the components that you have to use. Intuition is not always governed the same in each individual, hence we excel at different things.”

John smiled at his lover and offered him two teaspoons so they could put the mixture into cupcake sleeves quickly, and Sherlock waited until John had done two so that he could see how much was needed. They worked in a loving harmony that takes some couples year to cultivate, but it came naturally to them, as it had done since their first day together. John would take time to encourage Sherlock here and there like a good teacher would, and Sherlock would beam at the appreciation like a good student, happy to be praised as opposed to scolded for leaving a substance burning all night and setting off the fire alarm like he had two weeks prior.

When they had popped the tray in the oven explaining that twelve to fifteen minutes was all it would take, John pulled Sherlock in for a kiss, full of tenderness and love that Sherlock responded to, mewling every now and then as John nibbled on his full lips between his teeth.

“I missed you today John. I missed waking up with you, and wrapping my arms around you,” Sherlock murmured against John’s lips as John’s eyes flickered closed.

Two deep breaths from John, “I missed you too. From the second I left you in bed to wash up. You looked so beautiful, like an angel, and all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed and hold you, watch you sleep. I love watching you sleep.”

The admission from John had Sherlock beaming at him once more as John walked Sherlock a step back to the table and perched his pert little arse on it.

Sherlock wanted to tell John that he knew he was lucky to have him in his life to love and be loved, but the words hovered on the tip of his tongue. However soundlessly though, it seemed that John heard and knew what he was thinking.

“I’m lucky too, Sherlock. Thank you, for trying to give me something that was just for me from you. It means a lot,” John took Sherlock’s mouth again but nibbled up to his jawline to take the ear lobe that had tempted him earlier with the dried cake batter. “That was something from you to me. No-one else can say that they’ve had cupcakes from you made specially. I am privileged.”

Sherlock could only smile down into John’s face, the face of a man who had just been made irrevocably happy, before raining more kisses of varying intensities onto John. The heat of the kisses had both men aflame, wanting to take off their layers and be skin to skin so they could make lazy love on the table, the kind they had made the night before in the shower, when the timer went on the oven.

“Fifteen minutes, John. I don’t want our cupcakes to burn.” Sherlock smiled nipping at John’s neck, holding on to his belt loops. Sherlock never took note of where his hands had roamed, but judging from both of their trousers straining in the most delightful ways he had to assume they had done their job perfectly.

John grunted and disentangled himself from Sherlock’s fingers to remove their baking from the heat, and perform the needed checks to ensure that they were cooked through and place them on the cooling rack and turned off the oven. The heat from their baking barely touched the heat that he felt in his own blood that he got whenever he simply looked at Sherlock. His mouth was dry when he thought of how his detective had not only had a selfless thought and act, but also admitted in his own way that he needed help to do something. He was evolving in a way that was true to him only, and John loved it.

“They have to cool down, then we can ice them.” John’s voice sounded rough, like he had lost moisture in his vocal chords, and Sherlock was drawn to him like a moth to the flame.

“How long do we have then?” His eyes shone, John noticed, like he was calculating something with a desperation, and his china blue eyes were darkened by the lust racing through his body.

“At least fifteen minutes. Anything more wouldn’t hurt... Where are we going?” John asked as Sherlock drew him from the kitchen into the living room to sit in his chair while Sherlock sat astride his legs.

“I’m going to let the cupcakes cool. You on the other hand... I am going to work into a kind of frenzy in your chair,” Sherlock nuzzled into John’s neck making both of their breath come faster as Sherlock splayed his hand out between them to find John’s already straining member then slipped his hand into John’s trousers and wrapped his hand around what he could of John, “Let’s start with my hands, and go from there, shall we?”

John let his head fall back with a sigh and a smile as he felt long cold fingers play with his length and tug at him gently, “I am a very bad man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to all that are coming back, leaving comments, and setting alerts. I hope you enjoyed this, I wanted something that was more fluff than smut... I hope I managed it! Let me know what you think.
> 
> Any mistakes here are totally my own, as I am my own beta here due to the lovely Witch Nova moving and not having any internet. I adore you, my dear, and “To Where You Are” is awesome (on FF.net). Please check it out! Let me know if any spellings need correcting and I will get on that. - RavenFox


	5. Coming Out Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John arrange to tell their nearest and dearest about the way they feel. What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: as with previous chapters, there are scenes of explicit sexual nature here... Please do not drink or eat, as you may have an accident.  
> Also this is my longest EVER chapter, please enjoy!

**Coming Out Party**

 

“Sherlock, Mrs Hudson will be ready in about an hour, and we’ll have to go down and get her,” John said stepping into the living room and closing the door solidly, “Are you anywhere near ready? Or... Do you think that you will be?” John stood over Sherlock and kissed his love atop his unruly dark curls as Sherlock sat at his desk, laptop open.

 

“I will be. Just checking my website and your blog,” Sherlock glanced up quickly with his sharp blue eyes and darted them back to the screen, “Just in case, love.”

 

“No cases tonight, Lock. You promised!” John moved to his side of the table and frowned down at his quick-witted detective expecting some kind of come-back. Never one to disappoint...

 

“I promised that I wouldn’t cause anything to happen. Which I haven’t. I never promised to ignore a potential case because we made dinner plans with people, who would - by the way - completely understand why we would cancel. Isn’t that what friends do, John? Understand?” Sherlock locked stares with his diminutive doctor and focused in on him a little more. “Anyway, why can’t I wear what I am wearing? What’s wrong with it?”

 

John dragged his hands over his face in a manner not too dissimilar from his partner and held back a groan as he braced himself for the obvious observations he had already made, much like his lover.

 

“Nothing, except that looking at your shirt, you can tell you have been in it all day from the creases, and if you have been in it all day, which surely Lestrade will notice, that means that you haven’t deemed this evening important enough to get changed. Not to also mention, that you are wearing your third best dressing gown that you only wear when you’re nervous, you would wear the blue one if you were bored...” John paused and watched Sherlock go from dumbfounded to twisting his mouth as he went to stand, prepared for a reply and which John steam rollered over firmly, “Take off the dressing gown, change the shirt and put on a jacket and you will look amazing, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock collapsed back against the chair collecting his thoughts for a moment while John stood waiting with his chin jutting out and his sapphire eyes gleaming. This was the captain, Sherlock was sure of it, which meant John was not jesting about getting ready in any way.

 

“Can we not put this off? Maybe tomorrow? Or next weekend?” he asked John slowly, letting each word out slowly to see how it would taste, looking only at the laptop screen.

 

John’s features softened as he moved closer to sit by Sherlock on the edge of the desk that held many sexy memories by this point and some pivotal discoveries too. John could see the worry and fear in Sherlock and knew that this was not just about him worrying over Johns’ feelings, but there was worry for himself in there as well.

 

“Darling, look at me,” John took Sherlock’s cool hands in his own, and tugged gently to get Sherlock to look up into his eyes. “Sherlock, we made this decision together, that it was time that we told our closest friends and family about us. I’m fairly sure Mrs Hudson knows anyway,”

Sherlock’s eyes widened at that but he said nothing. 

 

“Well she does live down stairs, and we are not always in my room, are we? The point is that we shouldn’t have to hide how we feel about eachother. We are in love, right? Yes, there may be some shock from some people, but everyone always assumed we were together before, this will only be a slight adjustment to the way that they all see us. As you so succintly pointed out, if they are our friends, they will understand.”

 

Sherlock nodded for a moment and smiled at John with a gods-to-honest smile that reached his eyes and everything, and kissed John’s hands before standing up regally to his full height of six foot, “I’ll change the shirt and get a jacket. How long do we have now?”

 

John flicked his wrist to look at his watch and screwed up his face, “The table is booked for eight, and we wanted to get there a little earlier. If you can be ready within the next forty minutes, we can still get a taxi and get there just before eight.” 

 

Sherlock smiled at John before heading to his rarely used bedroom discarding his dressing gown before he reached the doorway. John smiled at that exhibistionst streak that Sherlock seemed to revel in more now that he knew he could get away with it when they were at home.

 

John shifted from foot to foot full of nerves that he couldn’t quite quell. Scenarios ran through his head time and again, and had done since they had arranged on this dinner, he was so full of trepidation, but he couldn’t show that to Sherlock. Tonight after they had made it known to their closest friends and family, they would officially be out there as a couple, and either way, there was no going back now. John had known that from the very moment his lips had met Sherlock’s and he had tasted like home.

 

John had to smile to himself because in the two months that they had been a couple - albeit a secretive one - they had grown together as equals, even more than they had been before, and in almost every sense. John knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Whichever god, goddess, deity or spirit - whatever - had thought to weave their destinies together got it right. They got it oh-so-right.

 

“John?” came Sherlock’s disembodied voice from what John now liked to call ‘The Changing Room’, and he follwed towards the baritone voice until he heard it rumble again, “John, where is my shirt?”

 

“How on earth am I supposed to know, Sherlock? They are your clothes, and this is your room.”

 

John appeared in the doorway and was greeted by an expanse of Sherlock’s pale back bent over with his splashes of freckles dotted around to awe John into a veritable silence as Sherlock rifled through a pile of clothes that had not been there two hours ago.

 

John’s awe didn’t diminish one iota when Sherlock spun around on his knees with a wicked smile on his face that was all about being the hunter and John being the prey. John felt his heart stutter in his chest and his mouth run dry as he unconsciously flicked his tounge over his teeth. As he drew a breath he opened his mouth to give some kind of a witty remark but instead he found himself rasping in air to his lungs that has ceased their primary function.

 

Sherlock only smiled wider, impressed by the reactions he catalogued on his beloved’s face and decided to be purposfuly difficult to see if John was indeed in full arousal mode so close to having to step out of the door, and whether he could delay them enough to have Mrs Hudson knocking on the door for them. 

 

“I’m talking about my two-tone white dogstooth silk shirt,” Sherlock stood to look down at John, “The one that shimmers. I want that one, John. Where is it?”

 

“Wh... Why would I know?” John’s feet carried him further into the room, closer to Sherlock, his sapphire eyes taking a moment to roam Sherlock’s torso before moving up to his face which contained his clear blue eyes. John felt his skin prickle from the heat of Sherlock’s gaze, and he could feel himself unable to control some of his movements. He was now in the mindless behaviour mode that he had come to term on himself ‘seeking Sherlock’, and until he could feel Sherlock’s skin under his fingers he wouldn’t be able to function properly.

 

“John, you wash my clothes. Or at the very least, you take them to the dry cleaner or pick them up. Sometimes you tidy up after me around the flat and put my clothes back where they are supposed to be, until I come and disrupt it all. If either of us was to know where my shirt is, it would be you.” Sherlock took two measured steps towards John, and got in close enough to smell his Old Spice aftershave, before darting closer and placing a kiss under his earlobe.

 

“I don’t, love,” John swallowed and maneouvered around Sherlock with a ease he wasn’t sure he could manage. He denied himself the pleasure of touch when all of that alabaster skin was so close to him, teasing him, making him want to call everyone and tell them that dinner was off for some silly half-arsed reason and tell them all that they could do it again some other time. That was what Sherlock wanted on some level, his fear paramount in his mind, John knew.

 

“What’s wrong with that white one there?” John plucked a shirt from the pile and brought it up to show Sherlock. It was white and silk, much like the shirt that he had wanted, it wasn’t the dosgtooth by any stretch, but this is what happened when time was against you.

 

Sherlock straightened in offence and shot John a sly look, “If I wear that shirt, John, I want something in return. Before we go.”

 

John looked up into Sherlock’s face and focused his gaze on his eyes, and heard the catch in his voice, it matched the hitch in his own breath. The sly look on Sherlock’s face had somehow morphed into a smirk and John knew that a game was afoot here on some level.

 

“Name it. On the condition that you behave yourself tonight as much as you can.”

 

“Agreed. Get on your knees,” John complied to the demend, “Unzip me and get me out. Then put me in your mouth, and make me come. Please.” 

 

That last missive was an afterthought, but it struck something in John all the same that he couldn’t quite resist.

 

John hesistated for a moment, realising he was not in fact the prey but the hunter who knew how to draw out the prey and get it to prance knowing what was to come. Sherlock’s game was now in full force and that time was against them. Sherlock loved to challenge John, loved to put him to the test and John always knew how to rise to such occasions. 

 

John could only think of ways to meet Sherlock’s challenge, and raise the bar to set Sherlock off kilter. If Sherlock wanted John right now, before they went out to reassure himself in whatever way was needed, that is what Sherlock was going to get, no holds barred. His fingers sought out the zipper on Sherlock’s trousers and swiftly unzipped him and took out his already swollen cock and admired the veins, John gripped onto his silken length while running a thumb over his frenulum  before plunging his mouth over his detective’s erection and teasing the tender ridge of skin with his tongue.

 

Sherlock lost his mnd for a moment, overwhelmed with senses. The heat of John’s cavernous mouth, the moisture of himself and John’s saliva intermingling, the texture of John’s tongue that played against his own tender skin for the first time that day, Sherlock’s mind threatened to shut down to ensure compliance. The detective looked down at the head of his sandy haired partner and knew that John would have him weak at the knees in a few minutes if he let him. Time was against them and running out fast before they had to leave, Sherlock knew it, but his nerves were tangible. Without this, he didn’t know if he would make it through.

 

“Lock,” John whispered up to him, his breath rolling over Sherlock’s sensitive and exposed skin making him tremble, “Stop thinking. We’re nervous, wired, let me do this for you.”

 

Sherlock leaned further back against the wardrobe door he found himself against with no recollection of how he got there, and closed his eyes. “Don’t get any marks on my trousers, or your own come to think about it. Would let everyone know before the words leave our mouths.”

 

John smiled up at Sherlock with his lush mouth, before putting it back to the ministrations of Sherlock’s rock hard skin, determined to give Sherlock what he needed to relax. Running his tongue from root to tip, John flicked his tongue around the weeping head and swept his tongue over the hole there gently. He was rewarded with moans and a suddenly shaking Sherlock close to the edge, and John diverted attentions for a moment by taking a testicle into his mouth and sucking gently, letting it pop out loudly before he took Sherlock in his mouth again to the hilt, causing more trembling and weakness in the knees.

 

Looking up at Sherlock, John could see his lightly flushed skin deepening by the moment, his dark hair touloused and roughened, and his was struck by how angelic Sherlock truly looked like this. A fallen lusty angel sent to help others and soothe John’s very soul. A fallen angel who fell in love with an army doctor.

 

“Love... Love cum for me now,” John whispered up to Sherlock, his hot breath teasing Sherlock as he opened his pale eyes that seemed so warm with pupils dilated and full lips parted, “Stop trying to hold on, and let go.”

 

Sherlock trembled and let gasps escape through his parted lip as he watched John take him in his mouth again and do something so sinful that it had his soul hurtling into pieces as he came apart with John taking in his very essence, and was put back together piece at a time by John. Always John.

 

“I love you, John Watson. I really do love you,” Sherlock croaked out when he’d regained control over his vocal chords, smiling down at his lover.

 

Smiling, John stood and gave Sherlock a chaste kiss before stepping back from him and passing back a white shirt for him to dress in quickly.

 

“I know you do. As much as I love you. Put your shirt on, we only have a little bit left before we are against the clock. I really don’t want Mrs Hudson to get comfortable downstairs, we’ll be late for sure.” John smiled leaving the door open so Sherlock could maneouver himself  into the doorway to watch John go through to the living room. He wasn’t watching the sway of John’s arms, or the way his legs moved. That’s what he’d say of John asked him about it anyway.

 

Sherlock grunted unceremoniously as he began to unhook the shirt from the hanger when he paused in realisation of what he held in his hands.

 

He folded himself into the shirt and deftly did the buttons to admire himself in the mirror for a moment. John had passed him the white silk dogstooth shirt.

 

John Hamish Watson was amazing. That was why they were doing this dinner, to show their nearest, and sort of dearest that they were more than colleagues, more than friends, but lovers who trusted each other. Sherlock just hoped that they all took it well.

 

* * *

 

Arriving at Angelo’s with Mrs Hudson in tow was not a new experience for Sherlock and John, in fact they tried to make sure that case permitting they took her out once a week as a treat for the fact that she did far more than any other landlay would do. The butterflies that accompanied both men, however, was a new experience, and one they knew they wouldn’t have to go through again like this.

 

Sherlock was pale and withdrawn, even moreso than he might normally be, barely up to complaining or deducing anyone that they had come across, including their taxi driver. All he would say was that everyone was deeply inadequate and then take out his phone to check texts.

 

John wasn’t fairing much better as he heart hammered in his chest threatening to break free. John wasn’t sure if what he was feeling was anticipation or fear, but he quickly decided that it must be the former because regardless of what anyone said tonight, he was going to stay with Sherlock as long as the great oaf wanted him around, and maybe even after that if John could somehow manage it.

 

One of Angelo’s waiters took them to their reserved table near the back of the dimly lit restuarant and brought over a jug of water to fill their glasses while they waited for the rest of their guests to arrive while Mrs Hudson talked happily about a discussion she had been having with Mrs Turner. Sherlock didn’t even pretend to pay attention with his phone in hand, so it was down to John to listen, and smile with their landlady who was more of an aunt to them really.

 

“...And that’s when Mrs Turner told me all about the fact that they were planning to adopt a child. Isn’t that nice John, that they want to give a child a home. I told her that it was a great thing of course, but she wasn’t so sure. She was worried they would get a girl I suspect. ‘Imagine,’ she said to me, ‘Imagine them trying to figure out how to deal with a little girl’s nappy.’” Mrs Hudson laughed and reached across the table to touch John’s hand softly while leaning in conspiratorially, “Well, I told her, I said, ‘As long as two people love each other, that should be all that matters, they’ll figure it out just like everyone else.’”

 

John smiled at Mrs Hudson understanding the subtext of what she was saying and she beamed back, acceptance bleeding from every pore before taking Sherlock’s hand and placing it atop of John’s and under her own. Sherlock looked between them, having heard everything, obviously, the man was never that turned off when he was around just the two of them and opened his mouth to speak not once, but twice.

 

“You, ah, don’t mind?” Sherlock’s voice came out rough to his surprise as he looked firmly at Mrs Hudson, only flicking a glance back toward John once.

 

“Mind, of course not. Although, I would appreciate it if we could discuss sound proofing for your bedroom Sherlock. Just in the flooring. For privacy, you understand, it is right above my bedroom after all,” Mrs Hudson laughed out at the blush that spread across their cheeks and Sherlock ducking down as though he still wore his coat with the collar up, “Like I said, as long as two people love each other. Any idiot who can’t see that needs their eyes checking.”

 

For a moment the three of them sat there happy in each others company until movement at the front of the restuarant caught Sherlock’s attention and moved his hand out from under Mrs Hudson’s own, and then scowled at the people walking through the door.

 

Molly Hooper was first through with a smile so wide Sherlock was sure she would hurt her jaw, and she was followed closely by a laughing  DI Greg Lestrade. Sherlock assessed from something Molly had said, but could barely believe it himself.

 

“Oh god...” Sherlock swore, rolling his eyes at John.

 

“Sherlock, behave,” Mrs Hudson tutted, smiling at the two approaching their table, as Sherlock scowled narrowing his eyes momentarily before catching John’s sharp captain’s eye, reminding him of his promise.

 

“Molly, Greg, really glad you were both able to make it.” John injected standing to shake Greg’s hand to resist the urge to grip onto Sherlock’s knee beneath the table to curtail any temptations he was having to be his normal quick witted and tactless self.

 

Molly smiled as Greg held out a chair for her opposite Mrs Hudson, taking her coat to hang on a nearby coat stand with the others, “Oh, of course I’d be here. I’m not late am I? Because I had this body come in last minute that I had to sign for...,” Molly looked at Mrs Hudson who smiled gently, “Sorry. It’s just nice to be able to get out, I don’t get out... At all, really,” Molly risked a glance at Sherlock expecting a razor sharp retort, as did the whole table, but Sherlock simply smiled.

 

“Well Molly we’re glad your here. Our chance to all spend time together without it having to be work related. I mean, it’s what binds most of us together,” Sherlock offered kindly with a slight smile without an ounce of his usual careless tone and his face as open and genuine as Molly and Greg had ever seen it, Molly smiled back slowly as Sherlock continued.

 

“Lestrade, how are things at the Met, then? Any cases that I will be able to sink my teeth into soon, or are all of you... Officers fairing well enough without me?”

 

The Detective Inspector seemed lost for words for a beat or two and his brown eyes widened before he was able to respond, “Everything is really good, actually. No big cases that currently require the Sherlock Holmes touch, per se, you know I’d call if there was. I did have someone suggest something to me, though in regards to you and work, maybe later we could talk it over?”

 

Greg’s smile was so infectious that not only did Sherlock smile and nod in agreement, but Molly and John smiled as well, at least until Sherlock’s smile dissolved as he fixed his eye on the door far behind Lestrade, and his body went rigid. John and Mrs Hudson noticed the change immediately without having to look at his face like Greg and Molly did.

 

Mycroft looked impeccable as always, striding through the door towards their table in his double-breasted, navy blue pinstriped, three piece suit that set in contrast to his pale blue eyes. His white shirt and pale blue tie fit snuggly under the waist-coat that Sherlock surveyed with his narrowed eyes. Mycroft smiled thinly at Sherlock before casting his eyes around the table looking the other guests over before he circled the table to sit next to Mrs Hudson and opposite Greg.

 

“Sherlock, John, thank you for inviting me to you little...,” Mycroft paused as though searching for an adquate word ensuring everyone’s attention was on him, “...party. I so rarely have the chance to get out on social engagements alone these days. Dectective Inspector, Mrs Hudson, Miss Hooper, it’s so nice to see you all, I do hope you have been keeping well.” Mycroft took in the various nods and ‘yes’s’ before his eyes lay on the empty seat to the left of John.

 

“We are still waiting for one more person, I see. Your sister Harry, I presume,” Mycrodt arched a brow perfectly with a smile that didn’t come close to his eyes.

 

“Ah, yes, Harry. Everyone, I have to warn you about Harry, she can sometimes get a little... volatile, swears like a trooper and has little to no manners.” 

 

Greg snorted and looked at Sherlock as if to say that he recognised some of those traits easily. 

“She’s also a recovering alcoholic, so try not to make a big deal about her not drinking. She’s on the wagon, and I would like to make it as easy as possible for her,” John beseeched, glancing at everyone, but resting his eyes longer on the Holmes men, in particular Sherlock who had the impulse control of a toddler and seemed to be a hair trigger for Harry.

 

Everyone acquiesed to the simple request knowing that John wouldn’t ask if he didn’t deem it important. Everyone seemed to feel the initial shift in hellos and began to make conversation. Molly and Mrs Hudson were talking about pets, the classic cats versus dogs debate and falling on either side of the fence, though they did conceed that a budgie was very cute but far too noisy to actually own if you wanted peace and quiet. 

 

Mycroft and Greg seemed to shift into work mode, being men in control of others, and finding it delightful to be able to find someone else who understood the pressures without having to work in the exact same place. Both men seemed utterly relaxed in the others presence and John couldn’t help but think that this was something they should all try to do more regularly.

 

John tried to immerse himself in conversation, but his attention was drawn to Sherlock who had ceased participating with Molly and Mrs Hudson, his opinion on pets being he didn’t understand their purpose and Molly smiled saying very simply that it was sentiment. Sherlock caught John’s gaze and nodded towards the door, John following his gaze and saw his sister on the street stubbing out her cigarette as she pushed the door open.

 

Sherlock looked upon Harry for the first time in months, and felt his insides churn. She was the one person who he could guarantee would be one hundred percent happy with John’s revelation of his sexuality and relationship status. She would see it as something that would bring them closer together, uniting them. She would, however, have a problem with whom John was in a relationship with. Harry thought Sherlock was obnoxious, vain and a complete show off. All true, but then Sherlock never exactly tried to help his case before, no matter how many times John had chided him for baiting her in a discussion. Tonight his best behaviour was to be aimed at her.

 

John stood to hug Harry, but she waved him off in a friendly way, being in front of strangers never made her want to display that affection for her brother who she missed like mad. When she sat in the chair opposite Sherlock, she sneered at him once for good measure before smiling at everyone else openly, which John noticed. He also noticed Sherlock refrain from giving her a look in return.

 

“Hi everyone, I’m Harry, John’s sister. This is a nice place, bit flash isn’t it Johnny? Sorry I’m late though, I was talking to Clara.” A flash of pain went across Harry’s features before she caught herself and squared her shoulders unconsciously, either a Watson trait she picked up, or one she copied from big brother in her attempt to be like him. Her sandy hair was pulled ack into a pony tail that could have been juvenile if her smart checked shirt hadn’t shown she likely worked with her hands.

 

Everyone else had returned to their conversations, and Sherlock made an effort to invovle himself with Mrs Hudson and Molly once move to give the Watson’s a sembelence of privacy.

 

“Sorry Harry, I suppose she told you then?” John asked quietly.

 

“Yeah, she did. I’m happy for her. I guess I just thought that maybe... Well, I have to move on now that she has. Get a life. Stay sober and be happy. Whatever that is anyway,” Harry sighed, pouring herself a glass of water.

 

Angelo bound over full of exuberance and took their orders for drinks and starters while ensuring everyone had access to a menu for their main and dessert. A few people opted for beer, whisky, or wine and one person opted for a lemonade and lime, which surprised John and pleased him to no end as it was Harry. 

 

When the drinks arrived back quickly by a waiter, one of Angelo’s wayward cousins, everyone started to talk about all sorts of things. Sport was the topic for Harry, Lestrade and John, and the varying types of music was the topic for Mycroft, Sherlock, Molly and Mrs Hudson, whereby the Holmes boys almost came to blows over which composer was better, Mozart or Mendelssohn. It was almost like a game of musical chairs as people moved to make conversation easier, or stood just to stretch their legs until the food arrived, when the talk turned to work.

 

“I don’t know if I’m quite ready for a promotion, thank you Mycroft. Really I feel like I sit behind a desk enough, and the higher you go, the less you really get involved in. That’s the part of being a copper that I like.”

 

A chorus of surprise went around the table masking Mycroft ‘s next question.

 

“Hang on, so you like getting the chance to run around?” Harry asked, stepping on the very thing her brother was about to ask.

 

“Well, it’s not the danger aspect, but yes. If I’m honest. I know it’s nothing like John and Sherlock, but I still get a chance to do some actual good, and I am rubbish at office politics.” Greg smile into his pint.

 

“That’s a good thing, Greg. You know where you want to be.” John grinned down the table.

 

“What about you Johnny? When are you going to settle at a doctors’ surgery? Get married?” Harry queried looking at John expectantly.

 

John put his fork down slowly and thought for a moment about if this was the time to say it, and looking around he wasn’t sure, so he said something else. Anything else.

 

“I don’t know Harry. It’s... Look when I first came back… Well I don’t know what I was doing, but I know that it was a serious blur and I felt like a ghost. So much has happened since then that I can’t help but be, well, grateful and just happy to have my life.” John spoke slowly but let his eyes rove the table but couldn’t quite look at Sherlock. 

 

“You’ve all been such a support to me over the last two years, and it means so much to me.” John choked on his last words, looking at everyone in turn, but never letting his eyes drift over to Sherlock seated beside him and everyone uttered back at the same time.

 

“Oh, John…” Molly whispered soft, her eyes misting up.

 

“Oh, sweet John. “ Mrs Hudson brought a finger to her eye softly, trembling slightly as Sherlock held her other hand gently.

 

“Mate, I never knew it was that bad.” Greg said slightly louder over everyone else, catching John’s eye again.

 

“I would never have admitted it to myself. There are reasons, reasons that I didn’t want to admit to myself at the time because it was just too much. One man, one quite powerful and somewhat prone to kidnapping me,” John met eyes down the table with Mycroft whose face remained passive and polite, “He brought it to my attention the first time he spoke with me face to face.”

 

“Well, I couldn’t fair well **not** point out something that was so important. Plus, you piqued my interest. Made life just a little more intriguing just as I thought they might settle down.” Mycroft added dryly with a real smile, the light hitting his blue eyes.

 

Only two people had not yet said a word. One John knew would not likely speak until they moved onto a lighter subject where he could dip in and out of conversations adding a comment here and there. Sherlock didn’t want to taint anyone’s opinion of them for John. 

 

The other was Harry, who looked back at him with a face so like his own with a crease of worry on her brow. His strong sister looked as though she was on the verge of tears while everyone else shifted back to their conversations and Angelo came back with more drinks. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Sherlock talking to Mrs Hudson, but had no doubt that Sherlock would be listening to every word to ensure Harry didn’t say something wrong, even if he didn’t defend him outright.

 

“It’s ok, Harry. You weren’t to know.” John bent down to her, resting his hand on hers.

 

“I should have. It’s been just us for such a long time,” she fisted her hand under his and whispered fiercely, “I tried to let you in, keep you close, but you didn’t want me to, did you? Because of the way I was living my life, the way I was treating Clara.

 

“No, I know. I get it, and I know that was my fault. John, I’ve been free of booze now for ninety days. Ninety-two really. I am doing better… I mean, I’m still confrontational, but I was like that before the drink.” John simply smiled, “There’s something that you are not telling me, I can tell. You need to know that you can trust me to watch your back, like when we were kids.”

 

“Harry, just…,” John said softly, “Just be happy for me. That’s all you need to do to watch my back. Remember I’m the big brother, and I know how to handle myself. I’ve been in the army and had to kill people, after all. My life now is never dull. Plus I still work as a locum as and when I want to. Being a full on GP wouldn’t make me happy, I like it in small doses. Moreover, I like working with Sherlock, chasing criminals, solving whatever crime we’re given.”

 

Harry nodded slowly, biting her lips to stop herself from saying what else was on her mind, and she turned to Molly and smiled at her to ask about the kind of work she did. Between Harry and Greg, Molly was swimming in the attention she was receiving and dealt with it well with minimal stuttering as she talked about the job she loved.

 

Mrs Hudson was talking to Mycroft about spending more time with Sherlock, and not just to send him on dangerous jobs. He raised an eyebrow at her, which she reprimanded him for like an aunt would do to a naughty nephew, and she was perilously close to pointing a finger at him when John felt he could turn his attention safely to Sherlock, who pushed his food around on his plate.

 

“You not hungry?”

 

Sherlock smiled a thin line and whispered, “I am. I’m just very... Nervous. You have to do it!” 

 

“Why me?”

 

“Please John. Trust me,” Sherlock picked up his whisky tumbler and sipped at the warm honey liquid. John had a flash back of Sherlock holding a glass of whisky barely able to keep himself together and found his resolve.

 

“Alright. I will. Now, I guess.” John said leaning back in his chair at Sherlock’s raised eyebrows.

 

“What’s going on down there, John?” Mycroft’s voice carried easily down the table and ceased all conversation in a heartbeat.

 

“Nothing. Well something and nothing. You see I’ve not just brought you all here to get together and have a drink. I’ve brought you all here because I need to tell you all something. It’s quite a big...”

 

“Oh God, your sick aren’t you?” Molly gasped and covered her mouth.

 

“What? No. No, I’m not sick. That’s just... Just silly. Molly,... No,” John spluttered.

 

“John, you can tell us, mate. We’re your friends. You can trust us,” Greg said openly from the other end of the table, as Harry nodded enthusiastically, totally at odds with her normal reactions.

 

John looked around the table and straightened his back with the military precision he always fell back on when he felt he needed to reach for confidence.

 

“Okay, so... These last few months some of you may or may not have, noticed that I have been a little...”

 

“Happy?” Mrs Hudson chimed in at John’s momentary loss of words.

 

“...Yes. That’s the word, simply put. You see, the thing is, I’ve been seeing someone. Quite a lot, and I think it’s quite serious. No, no, I know its serious. We’ve talked it over, and decided that you should all know.” John took a breath and hazarded a look around the table, starting with Sherlock who sat very still, his pale face flickered in the candle light making him look other worldly once more. Other faces looked expectant, happy and waiting for more information with possibly the expression on Mycroft’s face, which remained carefully blank.

 

“Johnny, who is she?”

 

“You mean you love her, mate?”

 

“Oh that’s so romantic. I’m so happy for you.”

 

All of these were spoken at once from one side of the table that held Harry, Greg and Molly. Mrs Hudson just smiled opposite them, and gave John another wind of confidence.

 

“Yes, we’re in love Greg, and we are very happy together. We really compliment each other too. They’re inquisitive, almost in a childlike fashion, they make me laugh, have a dry sense of humour...”

 

“Yes, that’s remarkable, John, but who is this person?” Mycroft spoke finally, very softly catching John in a near glacial stare that said nothing of what he was thinking. John also noted that Mycroft, so far, was the only person to pick up on the indication that it maybe wasn’t a woman.

 

Harry looked reprovingly at Mycroft but didn’t tell him to shut up before turning her attention back to her brother, “Johnny, have I met her?”

 

John took one last steadying breath before diving into the unknown abyss. He had reached the point of no return, and he couldn’t look at any one person directly in the face right now, so he fixed his stare at the end of the table between Greg and Mycroft.

 

“You’ve all met **him** , actually.”

 

Mycroft’s eyebrows rose high for a moment before a light dawned behind his blue eyes and he sat back in his chair with a finality.

 

“Mate, what do you mean I’ve met her... Oh. Did you just say... ‘Him’? Greg asked slowly.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Hang on, since when did you bat for the other side? Not that I’m complaining, it will be great not having you check my girlfriends out in future. When did all of this happen?” Harry nudged John enthusiastically and slapped him on the back.

 

“Like I said, we got together a few months back. We’ve kept it secret for... Well a few different reasons, and now we’re ready to tell our nearest and dearest.”

 

Molly leaned forward for a moment then smiled at John, then she leaned into Harry and whispered in her ear, and Harry smiled widely her dark blue eyes glinting in the candlelight.

 

“Is this a joke?”

 

“No. Definitely not.”

 

“What did his family say then? Were they shocked? Or was he already outed to them?”

 

John looked at Sherlock finally and held his pale hand, caressing his fingers with his own atop of the table, and leaned in and spoke softly but still loud enough to be heard around the table.

 

“Well, do you think that Mycroft is shocked at all, Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock smiled up at John, and fought against the impulse to quirk his lips further and didn’t miss a beat, “I’d say he suspected but never quite had enough substantial proof to say anything to either of us. That being said, we have been very, very careful. As for being outed... I’ve always appeared fairly asexual to anyone who cast an eye over me, but I know Mycroft has always wondered if I was actually gay.” Sherlock leaned forward to look around Mrs Hudson, and smiled at his brother, “I hope this answers your query Mycroft.”

 

Silence descended on the table as everyone processed the information, forming their own theories of where and when. While others tried their hardest not to think at all.

 

Sherlock lifted their joined hands and kissed them for the briefest of moments. It was something he’d seen other couples - happy couples - do, and was inclined to mimic the action. Sherlock had never thought that it was something that he would comfortable with, but in the interest of showing John, and everyone else at the table that this was serious, he held on to John’s hand and kissed it once more.

 

Molly stifled a sob but smiled, “I’m still very happy for you. For you both. Honest I am,” she said more to Sherlock, as a sign of letting go of any pipe dreams she still had.

 

“Thank you, Molly. It means a lot. I’m sorry for... Being me.” Sherlock smiled as John gripped his hand as a well done.

 

“You have got to be kidding me! Him! Of all of the men that you could’ve fallen for, you fall for him!” Harry finally found her voice and it was loud, and pointed across the table at Sherlock. “That absolute nutter! Johnny, you’re mad, he’s insane. He can’t love. Not you, and not anyone! He does not have it in him.”

 

John felt Sherlock react like he had been hit through their linked hands, but the reaction didn’t show on his face, which remained carefully neutral.

 

“Harry, you’re wrong. He is the person who has made my life worth living, because before him... Before him was that dark place I was talking about before. Moreover, I was almost very happy to live as his friend, his best friend and admire him from afar without him knowing, but he... Sherlock, can I tell them?” A slight twist of Sherlock’s mouth made John think it was a ‘no’ until he inclined his head.

 

“I know you’re wrong because I didn’t come out with my feelings first. Sherlock did. He put himself on the line and bared his soul to me. I’m not going to tell you what he said, but I know how real this is for him. It’s as real as it is for me. He wouldn’t put himself through this otherwise. Coming to think about it, neither would I. So if you’re not happy... Well what were you saying earlier about having my back? All I want or need is for you to be happy for me. You don’t have to like him, but as you don’t know him very well, you’re not best placed to make that kind of a choice.”

 

John finished with a finality that left the table silent for a few moments, as everyone looked at John and Sherlock who still held hands. Maybe they saw the certainty in John’s eyes as they had heard in his voice, or maybe it was the way Sherlock looked at him as though he was the only person in the world. The one person that mattered to him, anyway.

 

“Well Harry, I don’t know about you, but I am happy that your brother has found someone to love who loves him back,” Mrs Hudson shook her head at the blonde across the table.

 

“Here here. I’m happy you guys finally got it together. I mean John... There have been some seriously lingering looks in the past. It was only a matter of time before you realised how you felt about the git.” Greg laughed as Sherlock mock glared down the table.

 

“What looks?” Came a somewhat stunned reply from Sherlock

 

“Well, at every crime scene John does this thing where all he can see is you... Clear admiration tinged with something else. You call yourself a consulting detective?”

 

Everyone laughed, except Harry, and the tension was broken. Harry looked at the uneaten remains on her plate and felt she couldn’t eat anymore, she needed space and a cigarette, so she excused herself. John went to follow, but Sherlock stopped him, suggesting that she just need a moment, so he diverted himself to the bathroom.

 

Once he had freed himself of some of the lager he had consumed with his food, he found himself washing his hands, splashing some water on his face and staring at himself in the mirror intently. He was searching his features to see if it was obvious that a huge weight had been lifted from him, but as expected there was nothing manifested and his face still looked the same to him.

 

John took a few hand towels to dry his face and hands, and heard the door open slowly and four steady steps into the small bathroom. John knew those footsteps, had heard them on a few different kidnappings, but he would not be rushed. Nor would he show fear to this man, who wield a minor position in the British government, and could possibly send assassins to dispatch of anyone including himself. Not one iota of fear.

 

John turned slowly to see Mycroft staring at him with a smirk on his face, but he said nothing as the door closed behind him. The silence was deafening until it was broken.

 

“John, I suppose congratulations are in order, yes? I always wondered if you would be the one to unlock the emotions that my brother always buried deeply within himself. And you have, haven’t you?” Mycroft drawled, almost looking lost without the use of his famous umbrella that seemed to go everywhere with him.

 

“Not in regards to everyone, but in regards to me, yes. Some of the people Sherlock deems his closest, yes. You could be one of them, y’know Mycroft. If you could only stop allowing him to draw you into these feuds. He does want you around, believe it or not. You know what he’s like.”

 

“Yes, of course Sherlock does. Of course there is that small fact that Sherlock does not always know what is good for him, don’t you think? There are times when he has to be protected for his own good. Even if he doesn’t realise it straight away.” Mycroft took a step closer to John and towered over him with blue eyes so similar to Sherlock’s and yet so infinitely different.

 

John had anticipated a conversation like this. You can’t expect your genius partner to not have someone to protect him from you, and a genius big brother it would have to be. John simply looked up at Mycroft. He didn’t need to reassert his manliness to get this point across.

 

“Mycroft, I am not going to hurt Sherlock. I don’t intend on changing him, except to maybe try to get to be a little more polite on the whole, soften his edges. But think about this, when has your brother ever done something that he truly did not want to do, hmm? I know that anything he tries and dislikes or thinks of as unimportant, he’ll delete. I completely accept that. There are things about him that I may never understand, I don’t think I’m smart enough to be honest, but I love Sherlock, along with his brilliance, his arrogance and his absolutely amazingly big heart. I love him. I will protect his heart with my own if and when I have to, because his heart is mine.”

 

Mycroft seemed to absorb that before asking, “You love his arrogance?”

 

“Of course. On him, it’s perfect.”

 

“So, are you saying that I don’t have to threaten you?” Mycroft hazarded.

 

“You can, if you want to, but my relationship with Sherlock is not up for debate. I wont leave him - ever - so don’t ask. I would like to point out, however, that if you hurt him, I can’t promise I wont come for you.”

 

“Of course, John,” Mycroft smiled and turned to leave, “Thank you for keeping an eye on him.”

 

Mycroft opened the door a fraction before the metal in John’s voice stopped him and he left the door fall softly closed as he stepped towards John once more.

 

“Are you going to tell him? That you care? That you love him, even?”

 

“Do you think Sherlock would believe such a declaration from me? Because I don’t.”

 

“Maybe he wouldn’t at first, Mycroft. He would if you showed it was ok to have emotions. If you showed that you could love someone,” John paused an image appearing him clearly of Mycroft, “Is there no-one you could love? Someone who understands you? I think there is, I think you know it.”

 

“It would not do to dwell on the things that you cannot have, John. Some things are impossible.”

 

John smiled and walked around Mycroft to the door and opened it before speaking, “Impossible. Like a straight army doctor who falls in love with a man. Of course they could always be like me. Really quite straight until the right one comes along. Think about it Mycroft.”

 

John left Mycroft in the bathroom to ponder all manner of things that his usually quick brain couldn’t fathom in this instance to join the celebration of his love. He looked around hoping to see Harry had returned to the table, but her spot remained empty and Sherlock’s looked as though it had been recently vacated. John toyed with the idea of going to supervise, but he knew they had to learn to tolerate each other, and while Sherlock wasn’t always the best at grand gestures, he would try.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock stood outside on the opposite side of the doorway to Angelo’s to Harry who was doing her best to look everywhere but at him. He could feel the malevolent waves rolling off of her infecting his happiness, and it was happiness he felt. Knowing he could walk up to John in front of everyone and kiss him, or give him a lingering look that lasted just that fraction too long to be considered decent made him all warm inside. Harry was ruining it.

 

They’d been outside for well over ten minutes now and Harry was on her second cigarette, and it was almost finished. Sherlock knew that whatever was going to happen had to happen soon, or John would be crushed at the knowledge that his sister couldn’t be completely happy for him.

 

“I love him Harry, I know you don’t believe that I can, but it’s true.”  Sherlock turned to face her as she snorted around the cigarette she held with her lips. She hadn’t told him to go fuck himself, so he could only take that as a positive sign.

 

“John is one of the kindest people I have ever had to the pleasure to know and while there haven’t been many people I take pleasure in being around he is one. He makes everything worth seeing, worth knowing. I don’t know how he did it, but even before we became a ‘we’ he gave me data that I had always thought irrelevant to my life.” Sherlock wished he had a cigarette in his fingers right at that moment. The two patches on his arms were not giving him enough of a rush.

 

“Are you saying that my brother is a good science experiment for you? Really? He is twice the man you will ever be. He has courage and honour. He doesn’t just see the world around him, he is part of it. What kind of a future can he have with you?” Harry snorted as she stubbed the butt under her foot and wheeled around to face Sherlock. Her sapphire eyes were stormy, even in the dark light, and her mouth twisted much like John’s did when he was angry with Sherlock, and he felt like he was having some kind of surreal moment.

 

Which was why Sherlock knew he wouldn’t, couldn’t lose his temper with her tonight, couldn’t shout her back into a corner. She was John’s only family. They may not have been close, but John was trying to change that now, now that he was building a family of his own.

 

“John’s not an experiment. He is my life. He is the reason I get up in the morning, and the reason I go to sleep at night. You’re right, he is twice the man I will ever be, he is more than twice the man I’ll ever be, but I am more of a man with him, for him. I don’t understand emotions naturally, Harry. I didn’t grow up with them coming from many people. The second John came into my life, I changed something for him, to let him in.

 

“It doesn’t make sense for him to love me, but he does. As I love him. Whatever our future holds, it will hold us together. You are his sister, and he loves you, and he wants you in his future, otherwise you really wouldn’t be here. Can you try to get along with me for his sake?”

 

Sherlock stood in front of the door now ready to go in. He had said far more than he intended to say, and yet, he did not feel that Harry would be convinced, her hatred of him too much. He waited for something, anything before he opened the door.

 

Moments passed and the warm lights of the restaurant seemed to make the street feel colder, lonelier, and Harry knew that she would lose her brother if she could not find some way to tolerate Sherlock Holmes’ arrogance.

 

“I’m only doing it for him. Don’t think for one second that it has anything to do with you. I love my brother, and if you’re willing to try being nice, lessen those snarky comments, I’ll stick around to see how long you can last.” 

 

“Fantastic, I can last for a very long time. Would you like to go into the warmth now, as John is looking quite worried at us here on the doorstep.”

 

“Ladies first.” Harry smiled, opened the door for him and followed Sherlock through to the warmth.

 

Sherlock watched John’s gaze flicker between them as they approached the table, and noted how John touched Sherlock’s hand as soon as they were sat down. Concern worried his brow, and sat on the tip of his tongue.

 

“Everything alright?”

 

“Yes. Harry and I were just discussing smoking in modern London. She was pro and I was con. Needless to say that we couldn’t come to an agreement on that subject.”

 

John smiled and shot a glance at Harry who was once again deep in conversation with Molly, something to do with conducting autopsies, and focused on Sherlock again.

 

“Did she just try to eat you alive? You can tell me, Lock.”

 

Sherlock lay on his catlike grin and brought his head closer to John’s and whispered quiter than John had ever known was possible, “Just as soon as you tell me what Mycroft discussed with you, no? I didn’t think so.”

 

“Boys, not at the table, there are still plates on it!” Mrs Hudson tsked, bringing them to everyone’s attention. Sherlock and John knew, however, that this evening had been all about them getting attention, well Sherlock ensuring that John got attention.

 

All the plates were scraped clean, and not a one person had space for dessert. The table held seven smiling faces full to the brim on good food and company. Time was wearing on, but everyone seemed reluctant to break the happy atmosphere that had settled around them.

 

“I don’t know about all of you youngsters, but I need to be getting to my bed soon. I’ve got a trip booked with my bridge club, and it’s supposed to be a fairly early start.”

 

“I’ll ensure you get home, Mrs Hudson. If there is anyone else requiring transport, I can always call for a few more cars to be here shortly,” Mycroft offered and smiled gently.

 

“I think I’ll be driving home. My car isn’t too far away and I am only driving a little way past Bart’s.”

 

“Oh, that’s near me, Harry. I live around the corner from Bart’s. Do you mind if...?” Molly smiled.

 

“It’s fine. My cars a bit of a mess though.”

 

“Ooh Greg, what about you? I’m sure we could... Sorry,” Molly apologised to Harry that she was offering out her car and her chauffer talents.

 

Greg smiled a Molly and looked around the table, “Nah, Molly. It’s fine. I’ll just get a cab or something.” 

 

“Nonsense. Mycroft will get you driven home, won’t you?” 

 

Mycroft’s jaw slackened for a moment as Mrs Hudson signed him up for a task he was going to agree to else lose her favour.

 

“Of course, Mrs Hudson. Greg, if you need a ride, I will ensure the car takes you where you need to go, but only after we’ve seen Mrs Hudson through the door. I assume you two will walk or take a cab?”

 

Greg accepted the ride graciously with a nod of the head, as he drained the last of his pint as Mycroft asked Sherlock and John what they were going to do, who had been quite silent in listening to everyone while looking at each other making plans for when they got home.

 

“Walking, Mycroft. Nice night like this, we should enjoy the walk as much as we can. Normally we’re just running through the streets after some criminal or other. This will make a nice change for us.”

 

“First public outing,” John interjected, grinning from ear to ear.

 

Mycroft stood and excused himself for a moment as everyone else started to stand and put on light weight jackets and started to say their goodbyes. Hugs, kisses and phones numbers were exchanged all round, with promises to keep in contact and to spend more time together, and when Mycroft arrived back everyone left but Sherlock and John remained at the table holding hands again.

 

“So then. How do you think that went?” John asked bringing Sherlock hand to his mouth and brushing his kncules with his lips. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed, dark lashes on alabastor skin and John felt himself stir at the thought of he and Sherlock alone.

 

“Well, I think that went very well. I don’t know what you were so afraid of John.”

 

“Me? Well I wasn’t the only one. Look, let’s get back home, and we can review the evening - if you want to - somewhere private and comfortable.”

 

A smile played across Sherlock’s lips at the idea of them getting home faster. By the time they got there, Mrs Hudson would be nestled in her bed, and they would make a beeline straight for their room. John disappeared to pay but came back moments later looking shocked.

 

“Your brother... Your brother paid for all of us, and he didn’t even say, bloody git. Come on, let’s go.”

 

They rushed from Angelos into the night spring air and London never tasted so good. They held hands walking through the streets, and stopped on occasions to look at the sky and see if they could see any stars through the smog that sat above them and half an hour later found themselves on the door step of 221B.

 

Sherlock opened the door and let John in first before bolting the door and they both moved up the stairs with a sense of urgency unlike anything they had experienced together. Sherlock had barely discarded his jacket on the banister when John pushed him against the wall, and brought Sherlock’s mouth down firmly upon his own as their breaths mingled and came shorter and shorter.

 

Sherlock maneouvered them from the wall and loosened John’s blazer to the floor and pulled off his shrt in one fell swoop. He practically drooled when a scrap of bare tanned skin was revealed to him. Sherlock kissed the scarred left shoulder of his doctor, and nibbled up to the neckline as John stood rooted to the floor. That was until Sherlock’s hand found it’s way playfully into John’s trousers.

 

John saw himself at a distinct disadvantage in the clothes stakes, and rushed to removed the dogstooth shirt he had found for Sherlock earlier that night. It had been on the door and now it was going straight on the floor of the landing. John tried to gauge Sherlock’s mood, and he read in his pupil blown eyes desire, love and a freedom that he could only assume was due to being completely comfortable with himself.

 

“Upstairs, Sherlock. Bedroom now.”

 

Sherlock sped off at a rate of knots and John found himself at odds with the speed his body wanted to travel. John’s body wanted to be fast like Sherlock, but he knew that if he was slow, by the time he got to the bedroom, Sherlock would not have a scrap of clothing on, and he would be ready and waiting for anything John wanted to do.

 

John tortured himself for a moment by undressing on the top floor landing. Seeing himself all rock hard for Sherlock had his heart fluttereing like a hummingbird on the inside, and it only got worse when he stepped into their room. Sherlock sat on the bed with the lube in one hand and fisting his erection lightly with the other.

 

Ice blue eyes burned against sapphire ones when John clamered onto the edge of the bed on his knees. John couldn’t help noticing that Sherlock looked beautiful. His pale skin looked luminescent, ethereal and was utterly his.

 

“Lock. I need you to know something,” John said thinking of Sherlock anxiety earlier in the night. He drew Sherlock’s face to closer to his own slowly, then allowed space to exist between them again before drawing Sherlock closer still as his own breath came faster, “I need you to know that no matter what any of them said tonight, I would still want to be with you. I’d still love you.”

 

“I know, John. Looks like we don’t have to worry about that anyway,” Sherlock said feeling the need building in himself. If he could have shared the same body to be closer to John and all of his heart, he would have, but he knew that sort of thing was impossible.

 

“Impossible...,” Sherlock mumbled as John’s lips grazed his own and were then pulled away again leaving Sherlock to chase the sensation. Sherlock looked up to John and answered the unasked question that lingered in his eyes. “It’s impossblie that I can feel this way John. I wasn’t alive until you came into my life.” 

 

Sherlock came down upon John’s lips and took him in a whirlwind of passion that Sherlock had hidden well throughout the course of the evening. Hands were soon removing remaining articles of clothing as they caressed skin to skin, and when John pushed Sherlock backwards on the bed and followed him down, a gasp escaped Sherlock at the flush contact of having every inch of John against him.

 

Lips claimed lips as John’s hands began to wander the pale flesh of Sherlock, and soon fingers and lips had Sherlock a quivering wreck and ready for more. John slicked up Sherlock quickly and administered to himself with equal speed before he slid home swearing to whoever would listen, until Sherlock wrapped his arms about John above him and drew his body closer as he moved, their moans indicative of the pleasure they were both experiencing.

 

Sherlock drew his finger tips down John’s back and pushed the older man over the edge with the curl of a finger around a nipple, and at seeing John’s pleasure he could indulge in his own as he gave himself up to the riptide that swept him away.

 

When Sherlock came too a little while later, he realised he was warm. He had a duvet wrapped around him, and snuggled up closed behind him was John. Sherlock had long since passed blushing about what they did in private, but things were different now. Sherlock smiled at the arm around his waist and scooted back so his body was flush against John’s and heard the slight change in John’s breath.

 

No, there was nowhere else Sherlock would rather be than at the side of John Watson.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A huge thanks goes out to my beta Witch Nova (FF.net/LJ) - You are such a Star! Also to the Wonderful JuneJuly15 - Thank you for your most awesome support.
> 
> \- RavenFox ;)


	6. A Moment of Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short and fluffy interlude after the coming out party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me...
> 
> WARNING: Contains fluff, implied slash (as usual) but nothing to make you *gasp*
> 
> A/N: Right so before I begin I am sorry for the extended hiatus. I could make so many excuses, but I’ll just say that life got in the way!! :) I’m back though, and there is more in the works, so hopefully the next post will be soon. Mmm, where were we...

Sherlock felt warm. It wasn’t unpleasant, he just couldn’t figure out where it was coming from with his recently turned on brain. The computer was slow to bring everything online, but before he was fully aware he knew that the source of the heat started on his face. Just one cheek and it smelt... Like home. He was nuzzled against warm skin - a chest - judging by the texture.

 

John.

 

That ‘morning after the night before’ feeling wasn’t really one Sherlock had ever experienced with John - or at all - but after telling everyone who mattered he felt like he had come through a different man. Almost. The fact that they had spent the entirety of Saturday in bed and this was now early Sunday morning didn’t make a difference either.

 

Kissing the puckered flesh of John’s shoulder wound, Sherlock slipped from the bed and pulled on John’s warm striped terracotta robe to ward against the morning chill, and made his way downstairs following the clothes they had littered the passageway with.

 

The sun wasn’t up yet, the sky was barely a few shades lighter than when they had fallen asleep the night before, and the last 36 hours or so replayed on a loop with particular focus on the things that John did to him, and he had happily done to John in return knowing that Mrs Hudson wasn’t due to return from her overnight trip with the bridge club. Good thing too, really, because they had made noise in every room of their flat, and Sherlock was in no doubt that the guys down in Speedy’s probably heard more than they needed too and were not likely to forget in a hurry.

 

Downstairs was quiet now though. Later when Mrs Hudson got home she would prepare them a late Sunday supper, but until then John was asleep peacefully. It was going to be a lovely day. There was just one thing missing on a morning like this. Something that had been with him since he was eight-years-old.

 

Sherlock walked over to his violin case and lifted Serendipity into his arms to cradle her for just a moment before he began to noodle her strings like a banjo to loosen his fingers and improve flexibility while allowing his mind to wander into the past when she was given to him. Mycroft had been home for a short time between projects - school only taking up so much of his time - and Mycroft wanted Sherlock to have something of his for when he was at home alone and needing comfort.

 

Sherlock had been aware that Mycroft was going to go to Cambridge University earlier then he should, but Mycroft hadn’t forgotten about him, instead he taught Sherlock daily until he could master some of the less complicated classics, having mastered the basics in the first hour of playing. Of course, by the time Mycroft had to leave on business, Sherlock had mastered a somber melody to play before he departed that was full of the lonliness he would feel without his brother. No words were needed then, and Sherlock wasn’t really sure he would ever utter how lost he had been without him.

 

The resin and the polish in their compartment of the case stirred more memories long forgotten as Sherlock drew the bow down to recount the melody he hadn’t played for years before, lightly, allowing the vibrations and notes to fill his heart and mind before gliding through his body. Soon enough though, the somber melody made way for the robust part of lead violin a Shostakovich piece, played with a lilt of a smile on his face.

 

Sherlock was so carried away that he - consulting detective and master observer - missed the presence of his love and best friend walk into the room and take a seat and watch as he became more involved moving from piece to piece, composer to composer. John merely listened, absorbed in Sherlock’s playing as he was that the notes bade him to sit still so as not to break the reverie.

 

The sky lightened more gradually, and finally Sherlock became aware that he was not alone. That there was another breathing pattern, slow and steady to his breathlessness.

 

“We’ve made a mess,” Sherlock murmered, “we need to clean up before Mrs Hudson gets home later.”

 

John remained in his chair and blinked away his misted eyes to look - really look - at his consulting detective. Genius. “I will later,” he cocked his head, “what were you playing? It almost felt like a celebration. It was beautiful.”

 

Sherlock smiled broadly and was tempted to preen a little before he placed Serendipty back in her case. “We are celebrating, John. We have each-other. Mrs Hudson and everyone loves us - as we do them...”

 

“...Except for you and Harry...”

 

“...and everything is amazing in the world, except for the fact that I don’t have a case. Having your love is spectacular though, so I think that those two weigh each other out. Honestly, I just can’t wait to tell everyone else that you’re mine!”

 

John smiled and beckoned Sherlock over with the flick of a wrist, “You’re loving this?”

 

“Every minute...Every minute that I share with you, I love. Without you... Well, I would hate to imagine life that way. Dull. Everything would bore me after a short time...”

 

“Everything does bore you after a short time.” John inserted as Sherlock stood above him.

 

“Life with you, darling, is interesting, whether it’s solving crimes, running around London. Being in bed and holding you...Those are my best bits. I don’t think even a case woud rouse my interest without you along for at least part of it,” Sherlock dropped a kiss on John’s sandy hair, “you know that, love.”

 

Sherlock curled himself into John’s lap and nuzzled into his shoulder, placing a kiss or two or three up the column of his neck before he began to nibble on the earlobe he discovered.

 

“Hmm...,” John moaned and thought at the same time, no mean feat, “you do realise that there is someone else that we need to tell, don’t you?” John managed to puff out as the assault in his neck and ear intensified and stopped suddenly.

 

“No. We are not announcing it in the papers by some kind of ‘exclusive’ interview. Not even to stop nicknames I am sure you will get like ‘bachelor.’ John drew Sherlock down for a slow sensuous morning kiss before settling back into his chair.

 

“I don’t mean that. Don’t be obtuse, love, it’s not your style.”

 

Sherlock pursed his lips for a moment before drawing his eyebrows together. “I’m not being obtuse. I honestly don’t know what you’re on about John. Haven’t we told everyone that matters?”

 

John sighed much like a put upon man. He knew that it should have occurred to Sherlock that the person they hadn’t yet told was possibly the most important person. To Sherlock, if not anyone else and that they should have been the first person to be told.

 

“Sherlock, you have to tell your Mum about us. If she’s anything like you and Mycroft, I’m sure she has suspicisons, but we haven’t even met before. What if she hates me?” John dragged the one fear he still had from his lips with that one question.

 

Light dawned in Sherlock’s eyes and a grin threatened to pull at the corners of his luscious lips. “Oh Mummy! She knows about you John. She knew that I liked you, and that things between us were developing. She’ll like you for that alone. She loves your blog. Granted I haven’t told her how things have changed, but she will have figured it out. She is terribly clever.”

 

“Family trait.” John muttered as Sherlock’s breath against his neck made his own catch in his throat as Sherlock snuggled as close as he coud get.

 

“Mm. Of course. You and Harry got passion, that’s why you’re both so firey.” Sherlock sounded drowsy now, and his head lulled against John’s shoulder as a heavy weight. Sherlock stroked john’s hair and neck with long cool fingers and John knew that sleep would claim them both soon enough, and John knew that the chair was the worst place for the two of them to sleep.

 

Drawing Sherlock closer and placing his loves arms around his neck, John lifted Sherlock in a fireman’s hold and carried him slowly and safely up to their bedroom following the trail of clothes from the passionate nights before.

 

Once Sherlock was placed into the warm covers, John nipped downstairs to retrieve all evidence of the last time they arrived home before joining his love under the covers. Life with Sherlock would never be boring, as long as they could always find a moment of bliss.


	7. A Day at the Yard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John get called into Scotland Yard, and for a change its not for a case. Things are happening at Scotland Yard, so make way for the worlds only consulting detective.

A Day at the Yard

 

221b Baker Street was quiet. Possibly too quiet for a Monday morning after a weekend of happy celebration by Sherlock and John, but at least no one had the remains of a hang over to worry about. It was the heat of the sun that awoke John on that Monday morning, as opposed to the tall, snore-making machine that was currently wrapped around him, pale skin standing out against his own natural tan

 

Although they had spent the better part of the weekend in bed, John still felt tired, and he told himself that he was too old for the antics they had pulled, the thing with the riding crop and the baby oil being the tamest. John’s bed was now not the only item in need of being replaced as various items had been knocked or broken due to rigorous activity. When Mrs Hudson had come up with food the day before, she told them in no uncertain-terms that she would not be replacing anything broken unless it wore down of ‘natural causes’.

 

Sherlock mumbled something in his sleep and clung to John tighter for a moment before slipping back into slumber, John slipped from the bed, grabbed his dressing gown before he closed the door softly behind him, in an effort not to wake Sherlock from the restless slumber that claimed him but a few hours before. John could only smile to himself as he tightened his dressing gown and shuffled down the stairs to brightness of the living room. There was a certain hum to the traffic in the street below but nothing enough to shake the smile from John’s face as he finally felt he could move on with his future happily.

 

Flipping the kettle on, John brought out two cups and prepared them with tea and sugar for Sherlock before setting about his morning routine. His mind couldn’t help but drift to the amazing friends and family they had, because he knew that some of them still had reservations but they didn’t want to show it. John was quite prepared to tell them that they had better start looking at their own lives before casting any stones at his.  He knew that people would be telling him that he should get out, but he was quite happy to tear into anyone who didn’t support them.

 

Of course this was only but the first stage of them coming out as a fully-fledged couple. Next would be other relatives and friends they saw less often. Work colleagues and former army blokes that John was bound to run into. John wasn’t afraid of that though, as he was looking forward to seeing the shock register on some of their faces, those that knew him to be the Captain Watson who had had his fair share of women on three continents would mostly be shocked to see him settling down with a man.

 

John shuffled from the kitchen to the living room sofa, one of the pieces of furniture to be replaced in due course, and sat down softly in accordance to the screaming muscles in his thighs.

 

He couldn’t remember whose idea it was to look for the Karma Sutra online and see what positions they could mimic, but John new that his lanky younger man was far more flexible than he looked and to keep up he would need yoga or Pilates, not that he would ever admit that aloud to anyone who asked. Thank you very much.

Bringing the steaming teacup to his mouth he willed the warmth to spread through his limbs, but knew that the best option would be a bath or shower, without Sherlock, depending on his mood when he got up. That being said, they could always find something interesting in the bathroom for both of them. John could only smile at the images that played across his mind like a movie screen, giving him another reason to have the morning rise.

 

“Morning, John.”

 

Sherlock leaned against the door jam of the living room casually. His stripped white pyjamas made him look completely at ease, but that blue silk dressing gown was on and draped around him. He looked gorgeous, thoroughly kissed, thoroughly fucked. Best of all though was that he looked as though he couldn’t wait to do it again.

 

“Morning love, I’ve made you tea. Interested in breakfast?”

 

Sherlock clambered onto the sofa and sipped his tea with a shrewd look in his eyes before reclining on the length of it with his feet in John’s lap, kneading the terracotta fluff beneath his toes.

 

“Is there any chance that you could make me a fry up?” Sherlock hesitated. “With mushrooms and not those horrible cherry tomatoes that you insist on using. They’re awful.”

 

Sherlock looked up over the rim of his cup with twinkling eyes that made John forget how to breathe, and although he couldn’t see Sherlock’s mouth, he was fairly sure it was whipped into a sly smile, full of sexy intent for later.

 

“I could do that,” John struggled out, “I think we have everything that there needs to be. What do you want to do today? We’re case-less, so we could stay home, or go somewhere if the weather holds up nicely.” John pondered taking one pale, long foot of his lovers and kneading it between his fingers. Sherlock almost managed to stifle a moan, but it was too much for him.

 

“Mmm, John. I am really, really hungry. For food, I mean. I need energy. Please…” Sherlock pleaded with eyes closed and his head thrown back against the arm of the sofa, his black curls spread around him like a dark halo while he fought the sensations John created with his hands travelling up his leg under his pyjamas.

 

A smile flittered across John’s face as he noted the flush that crept up Sherlock’s neck from his collarbone, and decided to allow him some mercy and removed his hands from him to stand and rearrange his legs back on the sofa.

 

“Alright, but you need to think on what we should do. We can’t spend another day lazing about, or Mrs Hudson will start to get worried that our relationship is only about sex.” John responded wryly missing a sideswipe from Sherlock’s arm aimed at his arse laughingly.

 

“I’m going. You know it wouldn’t hurt to you to cook breakfast once-in-a-while. I’m not your housekeeper,” John turned to the kitchen and began to gather the breakfast ingredients that he would need.

 

He heard Sherlock’s speedy typing and knew that he had located his laptop that had been hidden under the sofa on Saturday morning, and knew he would be checking his email to see if any case had presented itself for him to take up. Even though John knew Sherlock loved him, he really didn’t intend on changing the nature of the man who made his life interesting and lively. He couldn’t, no wouldn’t, change him to be something that he was not, all of his idiosyncrasies that made him this super-intelligent man were just some of the reasons he would do anything for him.

 

Sherlock tapped at his laptop trying to find something that would take his mind off of having John over the kitchen table, but he had no cases at all, no even the most boring. He roamed the Internet news pages, trying to ascertain some pattern or something, and all he could see were words jumping from pages that were completely inappropriate. Sherlock slammed his laptop in a refusal to let his newfound libido run his life. He hadn’t let his relationship change him to date, not significantly, and he didn’t intend to. He would try almost anything to make John happy, but not so much that he couldn’t recognise himself in the mirror.

 

John allowed him to look at the data, play with it in his mind and not tell him he was wrong to do so. He only tried to get Sherlock to see outside of that, but he was the conductor that allowed emotions to be visible. Without John, Sherlock didn’t think he would understand the half of life as it was in ‘normal’ terms.

 

Sherlock became so lost in his thoughts that he did not notice John observing him as he laid the plates on their desks that functioned as a dinner table far too often. Sherlock’s eyes became focussed on a distant point that only he could see, but John knew something was bothering him.

 

“I’m not going anywhere Sherlock. I take you for what you are. You know this. You probably knew before I did, with your coat and cheekbones that I would accept you with minimal fuss. There is no way you’re getting rid of me now we’re together.”

 

Sherlock nodded at him, eyes focussing slowly, and he settled at the table as they ate to the sound of the radio. It seemed to both of them that they had finally achieved a balance where everything simply worked. They didn’t need to speak to understand each other, or have complicated conversations, as Sherlock was often wont to do with John taking on his pleasantly blank face. They just worked around each other companionably.

 

“John…”

 

“Sherlock…” John mimicked his tone.

 

“Is that your phone ringing or is it mine?”

 

Both men paused to see if they could hear a distinctive ring tine, and Sherlock’s eyes lit up. “It’s mine. Do you mind getting that for me?”

 

John closed his eyes slowly, and counted backwards from ten slowly to avoid snapping and when he opened them he could see Sherlock peering at him meekly holding his breath.

 

“Where is it then? I’ll be your run around man on this occasion,” he muttered lightly, “along with every other time you want something but don’t want to move.”

 

“Bedroom, my bedside cabinet, top draw,” came the instinctual guide. It often irked John for milliseconds then he’d just get over it, and this was one of those times while he shot up the stairs and got to the phone just as it stopped ringing. He’d seen the name as the phone was lit up and knew that this would excite Sherlock to no end and give him something to do.

 

“It was Lestrade for you. Call him back,” John passed the phone as he slid back into his chair to resume eating his food.

 

Palming the phone, Sherlock set about tapping on the keys swiftly, firing a message to Lestrade, and set it back down to spear some mushrooms with his fork. His phone began to ring as he chewed and rolled his eyes before answering, to which John stifled a chuckle.

 

“Sherlock Holmes.”

 

“Sherlock, its Greg. You said to call you. Why didn’t you just call me back?”

 

“You know how I feel about making phone calls. I prefer to text. Plain and simple. Hold on let me put you on speaker so I can finish my breakfast. John’s here so beware,” Sherlock pushed a button and placed the phone softly back on the table top, “have you got something for us? You must know that we’re still at a loose end.”

 

“Hi Greg, by the way.” John slipped in, before biting into some more bacon and beans from his plate.

 

“John, mate. Morning. I figured you’d both be up by now being that it’s after the morning rush hour. I know you’re both at loose ends, but I don’t have a case for you. Not yet, anyway, I’m sure something will pop up. It usually does,” Greg's dry tone came down the line, “I’m calling about what I mentioned on Friday at dinner. I need you to come in though, I think we should talk about it, the three of us, face to face.”

 

Sherlock and John shared a glance over the phone, and when John nodded slowly, Sherlock felt happy enough to say, “We’ll finish breakfast and get ready, maybe an hour and a half...” John raised an eyebrow and pushed back his plate, “Two... Make it two hours, Greg. John’s a little slow in his feet today.”

 

There was a beat of silence from the phone before the good detective inspector muttered, “I don’t need to know anything... I’m not asking for anything. Two hours. See you then.”

 

Sherlock disconnected the call before he picked up John’s plate with his own and scooted off to the kitchen, while John simply swivelled round in his chair to watch his detective. His mind whirred like an engine being revved up as Sherlock made his way back to the sofa and stretched out on it like a cat.

 

“Why two hours, love? It wont take us that long to get ready and get to The Yard.”

 

“ I know that, but I’m not having Lestrade think he can click his fingers, and there I’ll be. Plus I missed you this morning, when I woke up you weren’t there. I had plans for you.”

 

“Well, those plans will have to wait, won’t they?”

 

“No. They won’t.” Sherlock ran long pale fingers through his hair and stretched again, making his legs lock and his back arch from the sofa slightly. He moaned low and deep and the sound went through John's body like an alarm.

 

John could see a stretch of Sherlock’s pale stomach from the T-shirt that rode up on his body. This was temptation, pure and simple. Sherlock was tempting him, putting him before business and it felt damned good. John’s mouth felt dry as he knelt by the sofa and pulled Sherlock into a soft kiss. A teasing kiss full of promise that John would have been tempted to fulfil right there on the sofa like they had done before, but he pulled back after licking the length of Sherlock’s neck.

 

“I am going to shower. Then I am going to get dressed, so I hope your plans are portable Sherlock.”

 

John was soon stepping under the warm spray, and it was a form of heaven for him working out all the kinks in his muscles that had been built up over the weekend by over use by his extremely agile boyfriend. As he lathered up the soap and glided them along his skin, another pair of hands joined his own.

 

“If I help you shower, will I get what I want then?” Sherlock murmured against John’s neck while his hands glided his flanks in a motion that curled forward to the front of John’s body before cupping him gently then returning to lathering him up.

 

“Maybe...It’s not an exchange I was angling for you know. I am quite happy to wait...until later.” John sighed as Sherlock took John’s ample arse cheeks and began to lather them up and pry them in turn. “We are supposed to be somewhere soon.”

 

“The Yard, I know. I want to do this first, so I go there in the best possible mood,” Sherlock withdrew his hands so only his finger tips were grazing John’s skin, “of course I could always stop...”

 

John bit his lip and whimpered as Sherlock’s fingers began to quest a little firmer and deeper in a more localised way that made John want to lean back into Sherlock for just a moment so he could get caught in that relaxing motions of his young lover.

 

Sherlock placed John’s hands on the shower wall and held them there for a second before dipping his mouth to John’s neck and nibbling the warm flesh gently. John bucked at the surprise and leaned so his back was flush against Sherlock’s. Sherlock was hard and now wedged between his cheeks pleasantly but he continued to stroke John, to help melt the tension knots that were in some of the most surprising places that John had forgotten existed.

 

Sherlock allowed his hands to sweep forwards, cupping and lightly tugging at John’s erection, and John wanted to look but for fear of losing control he placed his head against the tiles instead. Every so often, Sherlock would move his hand to John’s cock and move it in just the way that would have John panting, just the right amount of pressure in his thumb that glided over the ridge in his penis.

 

“Aah, shit… Sherlock...”

 

“Shh… I’m here John. I’m right here.” Sherlock whispered into John’s ear as he moved his hand faster and more controlled.

 

John felt his orgasm approach fast after a few peaks, something to do with Sherlock being pressed up so close and whispering in his ear about letting go and the delicious friction that the man created for him. He didn’t have the chance to speak as it consumed him whole, his vision blacking out in the pleasure as his hips moved of their own accord.

 

The first thing John felt were the strong arms that held him as his mind blinkered. The second was the spray beating down on his skin like rain. John twisted his face round and drew Sherlock in for a kiss that threatened to lead to more of the same before Sherlock broke away.

 

“If I carry on we wont get anywhere. I need a cold shower now. I’ve done what I wanted to do for you this morning.” Sherlock smiled lopsidedly at John, leaning against the opposite shower wall.

 

“Or I could…?” John smiled reaching for Sherlock.

 

“No, love. Its best if we don’t. Plus, I’ll be thinking of ways that you can repay me later if we leave it now.”

 

John gave Sherlock a chaste kiss, a parting kiss, before stepping out of the shower and wrapping himself in a terracotta robe. “Promise?”

 

“Absolutely.” Sherlock turned the dial to make the hot water turn to an icicle spray while presenting John with ample arse cheek to view before he closed the bathroom door and made his way upstairs to get changed.

 

 

***

 

 

An hour later saw them leaving Baker Street in a taxi to New Scotland Yard. The street was busy, there were buses and pedestrians everywhere and John stroked Sherlock’s hand lightly.

“So, will we be making it obvious to others at The Yard? About our change in status now we’ve come out to our friends?”

 

“What? I suppose, John. What would you want to do?” Sherlock cast a glance at John before looking out the window at the familiar city.

 

“I think we should play it down for now. Which means that we be our normal selves without watching each other like we must have done a million times before. We’re here to see Greg, hear him out and then make our way somewhere else. If we see Donovan or Anderson, we ignore them, okay?”

 

“You want me to just ignore them if they say something out of line instead of correct their ignorance? John, that’s asking too much?” Sherlock huffed.

 

The taxi pulled up across the road and John opened his door. “No Sherlock, I’m asking just enough. We need to make our lives easier for our future, and you don’t know how long Greg will let you work alongside him if everyone keeps complaining about you. Just try, please?”

 

Sherlock paid the driver and followed John to the pavement. Once John had shut the door he didn’t move away, he stood waiting, and Sherlock knew he wouldn’t get away without giving some kind of answer.

 

“I’ll try,” Sherlock grated out, “but don’t expect them to do anything less than get under my skin. You know what they think of me!”

 

John nodded and crossed the street with Sherlock following close behind. “I know, Lock, but you are better than them. It’s about time you start remembering that.” He smiled as Sherlock agreed with him and they made their up to Greg’s floor.

 

Greg stood in his squad room waiting for them as they pushed open the doors and simply nodded them into his office without any preamble, then asked someone to get them some coffees before shutting his door.

 

John sat on a chair without needing an invite, however Sherlock stood for the moment as Greg perched on the edge of his desk studying them.

 

“Looking well, John. Life is obviously agreeing with you.”

 

“Well, it is what it is Greg. You know that.” John was interrupted by a young male PC who brought in three steaming mugs, placed them on Greg’s desk before sloping out and closing the door behind him.

 

“So, Greg, why are we here?” Sherlock started them off, standing in the corner of the room exuding a still and wary exterior.

 

John smiled at Greg’s face, because try as he might he wasn’t used to hearing Sherlock call him by his first name. He would only do it when it was just the three of them somewhere, never anyone else.

 

“Right, straight down to business then,” Greg grinned wryly, as John smiled into his mug of pretty decent coffee. “I have been taken to one side by my superintendent about how you have been working with us. He has been concerned about the amount of access you seem to have to crime scenes and data, with no proper access being arranged, other than by me. He seems to think that it’s a great idea to put you on our books as a proper consultant, with ID and all that stuff.”

 

“Really? Why on earth would I do that?”

 

“Uh, because we need the money, Sherlock.” John shot an embarrassed look at Greg, “I mean him. Obviously I will keep working as a locum when things get really tight.”

 

“I’m not working without you, John. There is just no way,” Sherlock exploded, “so Lestrade can run back to his boss and tell him where he can…”

 

“Sherlock!” John and Greg both shouted sternly, as Sherlock had the grace to look well told off as he sat and picked up the untouched mug of coffee while Greg eyed him.

 

“Funnily enough I told the super that you might have a reaction like that. I explained that you tended to come as a working duo, and as no one else has any method of controlling you except for possibly John, he had to come on board under the same terms. So you are both being offered a chance to be on the books, case-by-case basis, shared office and desks that you can use. There is also lab access, and John will have carte blanche of autopsies related to the cases if you so want mate. That way you are independent.”

 

Sherlock’s face didn’t render any change as John thanked Greg for the news. He quickly swept up and out of the office without a word. “He’ll do it, obviously. Whose idea was it really?”

 

Greg had the good grace to look truly uncomfortable before he spoke. “Not entirely sure, but I have my suspicions that it goes high.”

 

“Don’t tell me, another Holmes?” John smiled as he watched Greg’s skin flush a gentle pink beneath the natural tan. “His heart is in the right place. He just likes to pretend he doesn’t have one.”

 

“Hard man, is he?”

 

“Can be. He thinks that nothing can touch him and that nothing should, so he puts obstacles between himself and what he wants…except for food. I think if he was on some kind of active duty he’d be a force to reckon with. He does care though, deeply.”

 

Greg’s face deepened as questions whirled through his mind, but couldn’t force the thoughts into words but for one question. “What is it like to, uh…be with a Holmes?”

 

“With Sherlock…One word that covers a multitude is ‘unpredictable’. I’ve never known Mycroft to be in a relationship, but he must have been in one as he is more socially adjusted than Sherlock. I think that he needs someone who understands him, and deep down I think that he wants someone too.”

 

“I… John I uh,” Greg’s voice crackled into a whisper as he looked at one glass wall of his office over John’s head. John smiled encouragingly to himself and leaned forward for Greg.

 

“You like him. I know. He’s the first guy to draw your attention. Been there, mate. Listen though, it’s all about feelings Greg. How you feel, how Mycroft feels…and we never have to talk about this again if you don’t want to, but I am here to listen to whatever’s on your mind. You should talk to Mycroft though, I could give you his number?”

 

Greg took his phone from his jacket pocket and twirled it about on the desk for a few moments allowing a small smile play over his lips. “He already gave me his number. Said that if I ever needed to discuss anything, anytime, he’d always be on the other end of the phone.”

 

“That’s a good sign. It also probably means his used resources to acquire your numbers too and is afraid to make the first move. I mean it, about needing an ear.”

 

“Course I’ll talk to you mate. I will need help. I’ve met him a few times over the years, but things were different then. I was different, and unavailable. I suppose the biggest of all is that I never thought any bloke was attractive, except Mycroft and that first day he kidnapped me.” Greg drew a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair. “I want him. Mycroft. I thought something would happen when he dropped me home. We had a moment, but then he bottled it.” Greg laughed to himself.

 

“You like him, quite a bit by the sound of it. You’re single and you should just make a move of some kind, take it slow. Not like me and Sherlock, as I think living together all this time was probably our mating dance.” John smiled and looked like he was going to leave before he turned back. “The contracts for me and Sherlock, you’ll let me know when they are ready to be looked over, right?”

 

Greg nodded and quickly outlined a little more of what would be entailed of them, there was very little change to what they did now, except for some rules that Sherlock would love to break and John would try to impose.

 

“I’d better go. Find Sherlock, I reckon he’ll be around somewhere. You know how he hates what he thinks is boring. You need to speak to Donovan and Anderson. If we’ll be working here, closer with your team, they should know about it, and be warned that some things wont be tolerated, Greg.”

 

“Sure thing, John. It’ll be great to work closer with you. I need another regular bloke around, Anderson doesn’t count as one.” Greg laughed and twiddled the phone again.

 

John walked from the office, but stuck his head back through before the door closed. “You should call him tonight. Best to catch him off guard I reckon.” Greg smiled at that and typed into his mobile as John wished Greg luck silently.

 

Stepping into the main squad room, John looked about at the faces he would be seeing on a more regular basis and getting to know better. Not everyone would welcome them working at New Scotland Yard, there would be grumbles from others that Sherlock had managed to upset. Of course, that was an obstacle for later. The most important thing was that he was going to be paid to look after Sherlock, something he would have done for free, but they may as well benefit from this opportunity.

 

_Finished with Greg. Where are you? JW_

 

John tapped out the message quickly and before he got to the stairwell he received a message back.

 

_Looking for a new office. Come see. SH_

 

Typical, of course, for Sherlock not to say where he was in the building to narrow it down, but knowing Sherlock as he did the best place to start would be the lab. Sherlock would be sizing up the science equipment and deciding what he would need to commander from somewhere else.

 

A flight of stairs up to the lab, and John ran into the two people he would have hated to see with Sherlock. Without him was just about bearable.

 

“Donovan, Anderson.” He murmured politely as he continued not giving them a second glance.

 

“What are you doing here? Alone? He always leaves you behind doesn’t he?” Sally Donovan snapped maliciously as John climbed another step.

 

“Have you seen him? We were just with Lestrade. Important business, I’m sure you’ll get filled in eventually.” John continued to climb steadily as Donovan skipped down the last few steps with Anderson in her wake.

 

“Idiots.” John muttered as his phone beeped at him.

 

_They are idiots. Don’t let them wind you up. I’m in Forensics. SH_

 

John went up two more floors, and through two sets of double doors. There was a main working area, but also a few small offices, some with large glass panes like Greg’s and others had smaller sections and lots of plaster. One of the offices without glass had Anderson’s name on it, and John pushed the door open to find Sherlock seating in his chair.

 

“I think I like this office, John. What do you think?”

 

“I think it belongs to someone who hates you enough already, and we should not be in here.”

 

Sherlock stood and walked around the desk, “I know it’s a bit small, but we can fit two desks in here if we move them closer to one of the walls. A wall unit for medical texts for you, and a unit with my most used texts could go right there.” Sherlock pointed to the wall with the door in it.

 

“Sherlock, this is Anderson’s office. You can’t just get it because you want it. It doesn’t work like that.”

 

Sherlock stood and walked quickly to the door and closed it with a snap of the lock and guided John to the chair. “John just imagine it, this would be like the living room at home, only this would be our proper work space. At home there would be less clutter, my clutter.”

 

“Right. No.”

 

“John, please. We can get this office fair and square. No manipulation. We just have to ask.”

 

John didn’t think for a moment that Sherlock meant what he said as he perched on the edge of the desk. He looked like he was just trying to make an effort though.

 

“Alright, we can ask. I suppose Anderson will dig his heels in so deep that there will be no way.”

 

“Of course, so in case we don’t get this office, I want to have a good memory of this room.” Sherlock shifted so that he was now sitting directly in front of John in the chair with his legs splayed. “Would you let us create a good memory, here…for us?” Sherlock shifted a hand from his own thigh to his groin ever so slightly and pressed in with the heel of his hand, enough to capture John’s eye, how could he not, it was at his eye level after all.

 

John’s mouth went dry, “Sher… what…? We can’t.”

 

“Yes, we can. The door is locked, they aren’t here…but we are here. Please John, that cold shower didn’t do enough for me. I need more.” Sherlock pressed the heel of his hand again and responded to himself with a moan and a slight buck of the hips with looking into John’s eyes. “Jo-ohn…please.”

 

John’s body responded for him, he harden as though touched, and shifted forward on his chair to get closer to Sherlock but ended up rubbing his face along the centre seam of Sherlock’s trousers.

 

“Ye-sss.” Sherlock hissed as he held John’s head in his hand.

 

John grasped the zip between his fingers and pulled it down quickly and undid the button before his hand delved behind the fabric and found flesh. Sherlock hissed again and bucked his hips and John wrapped his mouth around Sherlock as though it were the last way to survive.

 

They both moaned in pleasure. Maybe it was the location; a police station would be the last place you’d expect to get away with anything risky. Actually neither of them cared really, it was a moment that they were sharing and enjoying together. John’s mouth worked on Sherlock, creating the right amount of suction and moisture while allowing his tongue to roam the veins that decorated Sherlock’s length.

 

John started to hum some tune around Sherlock, and sure enough he was soon writhing on the table, fighting back the need to release that was swelling up around him like a wave, but when John swallowed around him, he couldn’t hold back any more and groaned deep as his orgasm washed through him and into John’s mouth.

 

When Sherlock’s brain came to, John was not on the chair any more; he was undoing his own flies in a hurry and removing a packet of lube from his pocket.

 

“Sherlock you better get up and bend over this desk right now, because I am going to fuck you. That will give me something to remember for longer than any office we’ll have in this building.” John fisted himself firmly and closed his eyes, when he opened them moments later with his bottom lip between his teeth, Sherlock still hadn’t moved.

 

“Now Sherlock! So help me, you’ve done this, and it needs to be undone before we leave this building. Turn over.” John all but growled and Sherlock quickly acquiesced, pulling his trousers down his legs in the process, as John emptied the sachet onto his fingers, and approached Sherlock with care that his voice hid well. One finger became two quickly, and Sherlock moaned into the desk as John massaged his prostrate now and then encouraging him to loosen up.

 

A quick scissoring motion within Sherlock and John was soon easing his way home savouring each gasp and baritone moan that erupted from Sherlock’s mouth. John rested his head on Sherlock’s back and kissed him through his jacket before he began to piston his hips fast and hard.

 

This wasn’t “go slow and savour” shag, this was “I need you so badly that if I don’t fuck you now I could die” shag, and Sherlock acknowledged that with his own thrusts against John. They moved in a frantic rhythm, and John was soon giving a shout to the arrival of his orgasm.

 

“Oh shit…oh shit, Sherl…fuck. Fuck.” John repeated as he slumped over Sherlock’s back rather than falling over.

 

“Bloody hell John…I think you needed a change in scenery.” Sherlock smiled back to John a few minutes later as they both begun to laugh.

 

“I guess I did. Yeah, well it’s been a long while since I did something like this, on someone else’s desk, let alone attempting to have sex in a police station. Car parks, and places like that on the other hand…”

 

“Good ideas for the future there, love. Come on, we should make tracks to get home. What did you tell Greg?” Sherlock asked as John began to clean himself up a bit.

 

“That we’d take the job, obviously. He will let us know when the contracts are ready to go, and we had a little chat too.” John watched as Sherlock pulled his trousers up over his voluptuous derriere.

Sherlock stretched to rid himself of kinks on the journey home before checking John’s appearance. He looked at the very least like he had just had a very interesting clinch. John caught him looking and smiled.

 

“You look just as sated as I do, so let’s just…get out of here. Please.”

 

Sherlock smiled and unlocked the door and let John lead out before asking, “What about Mycroft. I mean Greg and Mycroft. Is something going on yet?”

 

They hit the stairwell and John turned to look at Sherlock fitting his ‘work’ face on. “How did you…? Never mind. I believe there is mutual interest. We are not getting involved though. Not our business, Sherlock. Let them go at their pace.”

 

“I wasn’t going to interfere. Maybe mention to Greg that my brother can be…what?” Sherlock saw John’s eyes harden just a touch, “okay, I will stay out of it. We will watch from the side-lines and only offer advice if asked.”

 

“No one will ask you.”

 

John started down the stairs again and Sherlock stopped him on the next level. He stepped into him a touch closer than they had ever before in New Scotland Yard, and Sherlock leaned in. “Please, lets not…bicker, John. Let’s just get home and…”

 

“Oh look who it is then. Found the Freak then did you, John?” Donovan threw up at them on the stairwell.

 

Anderson was only a step behind her with something to add. “John, how can you bear to have him that close to you? Were you two having a moment or something?”

 

“No, we were…just on our way home.” Sherlock stepped away from John and down a few steps indicating to john to follow.

 

“Cosy isn’t it, Freak? Surprised he still sticks around with you. He can do so much better.” Donovan followed them down another step.

 

John squared his shoulders and turned to Donovan. He’d never hit a woman, and he wasn’t about to start now. “You’ve spoken to Lestrade, I take it. So you know we’ll be working closer with you than ever before, right?”

 

“Bloody ridiculous if you ask me. It’s nothing that we can’t figure out for ourselves. We don’t need him doing it for us.” Anderson bit back for Donovan, a right little team, John thought.

 

“If you could figure it out, we wouldn’t have been offered the job. You might want to think about that Anderson.” John turned away but pivoted back quickly, “By the way Anderson, you have a lovely desk. It’s very perfect for cosy moments between two people who really care about each other, don’t you think?”

 

John left them dumbfounded as he jogged down the stairs past Sherlock and out to the street. For a change he managed to hail a taxi, and they both got in quickly.

“221B Baker Street please, mate.” John said firmly as he took up Sherlock’s hand and placed his lips on them tenderly. Neither of them spoke until they were almost home, content to watch the city roll by.

 

“I thought we weren’t supposed to antagonise them?” Sherlock said quietly.

 

“We weren’t. Well, no…you weren’t, as you have no impulse control. I waited and then told them just enough.” John smiled at Sherlock and laughed. “Did you get a look at their faces?”

 

“Donovan looked as though the world was just about to end, and Anderson…” Sherlock laughed harder.

 

“I think Anderson knew I was serious, and I don’t think that he’ll want that desk anymore though.” John managed to get out before bursting into a fit of giggles.

 

 

***

 

 

When they arrived at Baker Street, John paid the cab while Sherlock opened the front door. When they both had a foot on the stairs, Mrs Hudson stepped out.

 

“Hello boys. You look like you’ve had a good day.” They looked at each other and burst into another fit of giggles that had Mrs Hudson nonplussed.

 

“We have just been offered a proper consultancy position with the Metropolitan Police, Mrs Hudson. Fancy popping up to celebrate?” John offered.

 

“No, you boys go ahead and celebrate without me. I did enough at the weekend. My hip has been playing up.” She turned to go, before she remembered the letter in her hands. “Sherlock this came for you earlier. Was dropped off in person by a very smart looking man. Had a flat chauffeur hat on and everything.”

 

Sherlock took the proffered letter and turned it over in his hands. It was a very posh cream envelope, hand written in familiar ink, familiar writing. It had his and John’s names on it. Bugger.

 

“Ah. Thank you Mrs Hudson. We’ll see you later.” Sherlock said as he took the stairs two at a time. John lingered a moment and gave Mrs Hudson a peck on the cheek before following up to their flat.

 

Sherlock was sat in his chair, coat thrown over the back as he turned the letter over in his hands repeatedly.

 

“Who is it from?”

 

Sherlock looked up and John saw how pensive he was. What was in the envelope, and why hadn’t Sherlock opened it.

 

“Mummy.” Sherlock held the envelope up and gave it to John. John saw Sherlock’s name and his own on it. “Open it John, I think that there may be two letters within, or just one for us both.”

 

John opened the envelope, and there were indeed two letters in their own smaller envelopes. There was bulky envelope for Sherlock consisting of several pages, and a thinner one with his name on the outside. He passed off the other to Sherlock and read his own swiftly.

 

_Dear Doctor J.H. Watson,_

_I have been passed news by way of Mycroft that you are in a relationship with my youngest, and I congratulate you on seeing through the image he loves to portray. Please let me welcome you to the Holmes family by inviting you to the family home in a few weeks for a gathering. Sherlock has the information in his letter, but I have also written them overleaf in case he conveniently forgets._

_I look forward to meeting you finally and for the chance of us to get to know each other well enough to be close enough to dispel formality that Mycroft loves to cling to so much._

_I have heard many things from both of my sons - all of it good, I assure you – and I look forward to being able to put a face to the name and actions._

_Yours truly,_

_Annabelle Holmes_

 

Sure enough when John looked at the second page there was a date and the address of Holmes Manor. John didn’t know what to say as he sat in his chair.

 

“What did Mummy say to you?” Sherlock asked folding his pages up and sliding them back into the envelope.

 

“She, ah, welcomed me to the family, said that she was looking forward to meeting me. Mycroft told her about us it seems.”

 

“He never could keep things to himself. She gave me a telling off in my letter. Told me I should have been the one to tell her about us, even if it was a phone call. She wants us to go to a gathering, to meet you.”

 

“I think it’s a great idea.”

 

“It’s a terrible idea. We’re not going, John.”

 

“I thought you loved your Mum.”

 

“I do, but that place…please.”

 

“We’re going. Sherlock, to be part of a family is to take all of it, both sides. You’ve met Harry, and she is all I have. You have Mycroft, your Mum…probably cousins and aunts that can help me to know who you were. I have to at least meet them once.”

 

Sherlock sat in his chair and sulked for a good hour. He just sat and stared into space while John sorted dinner and made calls. Then he sat and wrote one letter to a Mrs A. Holmes confirming the attendance of Sherlock and himself to the party in two weeks time for the Saturday and overnight to the Sunday.

 

All John had to do was get Sherlock there.


	8. The Family Holmes - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John decides to take Sherlock away to the coast while there are no cases, but there is an ulterior motive. This follows on two weeks after the end of chapter 7 when Sherlock and John get letters from Mrs Holmes at Holmes Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, I'm back and I am sporry to anyone who followed this when I originally started to publish and anyone who has followed since. My Muse sort of up and left in the time between season 2 and 3 of Sherlock, and then season 3 just threw me for a loop. I haven't written the chapter that immediately follows, but I do have the plan, and I will be working on getting it done. You will not have a two and a half year wait this time.  
> I have to give a massive shout out to JuneJuly15 who has kicked me up the bum for this, and is really the main reason I started writing this again. She needed to know what happened next. Then she beta'd for me and told me to post, and that was two months ago. Sorry JJ, better late than never, right?? ;)  
> Also, I need to give a shout out to Witch_Nova221 and Evenlodes_Friend who have been such rocks for me this past two years, even when things are crazy for them in RL.  
> These three women have totally saved me from craziness time and again, whether fic related or RL.This is for all of you really. I hope you enjoy. xx

It was a quiet Monday morning in 221B. There were no choruses of “bored” being hollered and no consulting detective running around the flat being unbearable. John was at home and Sherlock was at Scotland Yard trying to find something to do there instead. Which was perfect really, as it gave John the best chance he’d had in the last two days to contact Mycroft, or for Mycroft to contact him.

 

“So, that’s it then. Everything is ready and if there are any changes or hiccups, I will let you know if I can’t handle it,” John paused as uncertainty got the better of him again, “I don’t know if this will work Mycroft, but it is the only way I think I can get him there otherwise. He’d try and find a way out of it if he agreed too far in advance.” John shifted in his chair and moved the phone from one ear to the other.

 

“I agree. I have spoken to Gregory and he will ensure that no one contacts Sherlock with any cases for the rest of this week. I’ve told him that if there is anything needing urgent attention, he should contact me and I will look at it on Sherlock’s behalf. He thought that an interesting change, wondered if I would behave the same as Sherlock at a crime scene.” John could hear the smile down the line and the genuine warmth that Mycroft was obviously feeling. Greg seemed to make Mycroft happy, and the feeling was definitely mutual from what he could tell.

 

“I’m sure that every DI at the Yard will be truly grateful for the break. At least until they get to know you,” John joked. “This will give Sherlock the right motivation to want to get out of London to keep himself occupied,” John paused briefly, “you and Greg are getting on well then? I don’t mean to pry too much, its just… he is my friend and…”

 

“…And you’re just checking in with me for knowledge that I am not getting cold feet about being with him. I know John. I can tell you that we get along. Better than I thought. We enjoy each other’s company and enjoy some similar hobbies. We make each other smile. There is an air of possibility about us, and I find that I like that very much.”

 

John murmured an agreement before Mycroft’s voice firmed in a resolve to get back to the situation. “John, you have to be able to lie to him convincingly.”

 

“Who is lying, Mycroft? Not me. I’ll be telling the truth about where we are going – I’ll just be omitting details about what happens at the weekend. Are you sure that contacting you via reception is the best idea?”

 

“Absolutely. I’ve given them rather strict instructions so they’ll know exactly what to do. Plus they do know me fairly well down there; Brighton is such a lovely place to spend time away from things. Such freedom.”

 

John couldn’t agree more and once he had had said his farewells to Mycroft he went into the call log and removed the evidence. Just in case.

 

o0o

 

It was barely nine o’clock on Tuesday morning and John was settled in his chair with a cup of Assam tea – no milk thank you very much – and the paper to devour. He heard the front door as it was opened and slammed shut. Then he heard each loud pounding footstep on the stairs from a man who normally had innate grace. Sherlock was arriving from a second day at Scotland Yard without even a whisper of a case. When he’d left over an hour ago he had been complaining of being idle and in search of Work he had flipped his coat collar before rushing out of the of door.

 

“Idiots!” Sherlock shouted as he flung his coat on the hook and discarded his suit jacket – that John adored – before throwing himself on the sofa.

 

“Morning, Lock. Who is an idiot?” John asked after a few minutes, but kept his eyes fixed on the newspaper. The article was on Sherlock’s deduction techniques, and was unsurprisingly off base, which usually meant that the source was someone who really didn’t understand the way in which Sherlock’s mind worked.

 

“The idiots at Scotland Yard, John. Greg’s imbeciles.” Sherlock lifted his head from the arm of the sofa to remove the cushion to cover his face with instead. “‘There are no cases we need you on, Freak. Push off.’” Sherlock mimicked Sally Donovan before tugging at his hair in a way that made John wince. He loved those curls.

 

“John, this official job was supposed to keep me busy! I cannot already be bored two weeks in. I need a case!”

 

John spied the perfect opportunity and went at it like a rugby tackle. “It’s probably for the best. I was thinking that we should go away for a few days. Get some fresh air, maybe find a case in Brighton, and enjoy the scenery.”

 

Sherlock head popped up so fast that the cushion landed on the coffee table and John was concerned that Sherlock would have some form of whiplash. He watched Sherlock’s pretty little mouth purse in preparation for something accusatory and waited.

 

“Brighton? What’s so good about Brighton? What do you know about it?”

 

“Ah, that Brighton is nice in spring and summer, also quite nice in autumn and winter. I’ve not been for a fair few years, but I think it would be good to go again. I like the beach…” John rattled off reasons that were all true.

 

“Right, and I suppose you won't mention the fact that you’re concerned that my boredom will result in me harpooning another dead pig,” Sherlock smiled slowly to tempt, “can’t we just find something to do in London?”

 

“No. I’ve already booked it all. And for your information Sherlock, I don’t care if you harpoon a dead pig or any other dead animal. I just don’t want you to get picked up by police, drenched in blood, as that will be a little harder to explain away to some people.”

 

Sherlock turned on his side and stared at John, a perfectly relaxed John, before responding. “Check-in is at 2pm, isn’t it?”

 

“Yep, Holiday Inn, executive suite with a sea view plus a balcony,” John smiled at Sherlock and his dark blue eyes seemed to have a light behind them, “our first trip as a couple, away together and… out.”

 

The slow and lazy smile that followed from Sherlock flipped John’s stomach long before Sherlock next spoke. “So it’s our first break together as a couple. Entailing romantic walks and dinners… Hmm, if we get to Victoria, we can get to Brighton in a little under an hour. We easily have two and a half hours before we even have to leave the house. There’s normally a train every twenty to thirty minutes to Brighton, and if we aim to get there for 2pm on the head we need to be at Victoria before 1pm. We could get the tube or get a cab there, I suppose. I’m going to pack our cases now.” Sherlock stood abruptly and strode to the stairs to mount them.

 

“Already done, Lock. So we have some time to kill.” John met Sherlock at the living room door, and Sherlock continued to stalk John, pushing him back step by step.

 

When John’s legs hit the sofa he didn’t fall back immediately, Sherlock drew him into a kiss, and bent him back - lowering him slowly - until John felt the sofa beneath him and Sherlock on top of him. Sherlock kissed his neck and nibbled on his ear lobe before he groaned into his ear suggestively.

 

“So much to do and so little time.” Sherlock unbuttoned John’s shirt swiftly while John worked on removing Sherlock clothes, first was the race to skin, then the race to ecstasy.

 

oOo

 

By some miracle, they managed to get the train they were aiming for with merely minutes to spare, and once seated they had their laptops out for the short journey. John was typing up some notes from the last case they had - a jewel thief, while Sherlock was looking up things that they could do in Brighton, restaurants, clubs, wine bars. Anything that John would enjoy while they were there.

 

Once they’d checked in and dropped off their bags in their suite John insisted that they walk down by the sea starting at the burnt remains of the west pier towards the east and the pier. John had fond memories of Brighton as a child with his parents and Harry, living a carefree life. He told Sherlock the odd story from them and more of his teenage years up until he was a recently qualified doctor before he shipped out on his first assignment.

 

“Seaside’s aren’t the same as they used to be. I miss the, ah… the charm that they used to have. They appealed to all kinds of people, but there was innocence there in everything.” John bit into the last of his Mr. Whippy ice cream cone as the walked through the old lanes.

 

“I know what you mean. Mummy used to bring me here and I loved it. I always wanted to go on the same ride that Mycroft was able to go on because he was bigger, and he would play on it. We’d chase each other around,” Sherlock scoffed for a moment, “well Mycroft would try to chase me. His love of cakes started so very young.”

 

Sherlock laughed deeply at the memory and John could only stop by his side and look at him with loving eyes before Sherlock tugged John into his side for a chaste kiss before tugging him into Café Rouge. Sherlock had agreed on the train down that for the duration of their break, he would eat regularly and try to humor John, as John usually did the same for him. John had called it ‘compromise’ while Sherlock called it ‘sexual bribery’ when he realized the subtext that went unspoken. The look that earned Sherlock was enough to convince him that John was truly serious.

 

After a late lunch, it was time for leisurely kissing and holding hands everywhere. They hadn’t done it much in London, and Sherlock would only ever admit to John that he actually enjoyed more than walking around with his moody coat with the collar flipped up.

 

They spent an hour on the pierkissing against the fencing with the sea behind them as a beautifully romantic backdrop, and hands often found their way down to trousers to cup each other wantonly through the fabric and somewhat out of sight.

 

“Will you stop that, Sherlock?”

 

“Mmm, no. Why? I could, but I like what you have here, beneath your jeans.” Sherlock nuzzled John’s throat again and groped with firmer hands over John’s jeans.

 

“You are trying to make the walk back to the hotel difficult.” John ground out as he resisted thrusting back against Sherlock for a moment and turned to face him instead. “Let’s go back to the hotel, for God’s sake, or I’ll be humping the railing for dear life.”

 

John strode towards the pier exit, leading Sherlock by the hand down the promenade at a fairly brisk pace, so eager he was. Sherlock wasn’t used to being the one being dragged around, a new experience that was actually quite enjoyable.

 

Sherlock noticed the receptionist give them a knowing smile as John all but pushed him into the open lift in their hotel and thumped the button for their floor. When the doors closed, John crowded in Sherlock’s space.

 

“Damn it, Sherlock. I wanted to show you off today. Wanted us to be romantic. And you had to go and make me all hard and unable to think on the pier, with children and elderly people everywhere. Do you have any bloody idea how difficult that was? I wanted to push you up against the railing and take you right there!”

 

“I got carried away, John. I let it all go to my head, and as usual I couldn’t keep my hands off of you.” Sherlock said drawing in a breath. “This, us being in public like this, it’s a little exhilarating and to be honest, I sometimes forget that we didn’t start out like this. With the kissing and the…making love business.”

 

John grinned at Sherlock, affably. “I know, love. Oh I know.” John planted a kiss on Sherlock, wet and noisy until the lift dinged at their floor and John sped them along ti their room and pushed them inside.

 

John made quick work of divesting Sherlock of each item of clothing, pushing him back onto the bed to kiss him some more, and nibble his ears and chin, and work his lips along that long column of alabaster neck that teased him constantly. John was driven on by Sherlock gasps and undulations until he remembered his own clothes still remained.

 

“Please, let me, John,” Sherlock whispered from beneath him, pupils blown so that only a small glimmer of cerulean shimmered up at John.

 

Instead of answer, John slid off, and stood at the foot of the need and waited for Sherlock and his long limbs to move. When they did, it was with the grace of a predator, a tiger, sliding from the bed to circle. John felt Sherlock’s breath ghost along his neck before his tongue tasted there for a moment and disappeared. John arms were guided up, and his t-shirt was rucked up, slowly, as Sherlock planted a trail of kisses up John’s spine, inch by inch, sometimes licking instead, leaving a wet spot here and there to the sounds of John’s short breaths, until finally Sherlock pulled it over John’s head and threw it to the ground.

 

Sherlock stepped away from John, admiring him from behind and reach around to his belt buckle to loosen it, allowing John to see his long fine fingers before they too were withdrawn. Sherlock’ method was enough to entice and intrigue John, and enough to keep him guessing about what would happen next.

 

When Sherlock circled round to John’s face, he saw closed eyes and a flushed chest, and he knew for certain his next moved. He lowered himself to his knees and crawled forward until he was face to face with the fron t John’s jeans, and the throbbing erection that lay beneath and unbuttoned John’s jeans, eyes on John’s face, and waited. When John’s eyes opened, looking down at Sherlock, he lowered his own eyes for a moment and simply looked.

 

John was magnificent. Pleasantly flushed a deep purple and so hard and Sherlock refused to wait any longer, and lowered his wet mouth and took John inside him down to the root and swallowed.

 

“Oh my god! Sherlock!” John’s hands flew into Sherlock’s curls and tightened there and let Sherlock set the pace.

 

John watched as Sherlock moaned and swallowed around the crown of his cock before pulling off for a moment and going right back for more. Sherlock’s moans vibrated right up through John and threatened to make him close his eyes in the waves of pleasure, but he was glued to the scene before him. John’s clever detective love, bringing him pleasure for their pleasure.

 

Sherlock knew what John liked, and proceeded in doing exactly that to break down each layer of John’s consciousness. Sherlock would have liked it make it all last much longer, but a series of gulps with John’s cock deep in Sherlock’s throat had John moaning uncontrollable as he filled Sherlock’s mouth with his cream, and watched as Sherlock never spilt a drop.

 

Sherlock guided John back to the bed, and laid him back gently to remove his shoes and jeans fully, and planting a series of kisses along John’s jaw. “Please John, please, can I finish?”

 

“’Lock, o’ course.” John mumbled still languishing in his orgasmic bliss. He missed Sherlock getting the lube from a bedside table, and making sure his fingers were coated before pulling John’s leg’s up over his shoulders.

 

Sherlock made quick work of prepping John, not missing a trick or the way John’s member twitched wishing to get hard again as Sherlock stretched John with three fingers and added some extra lube for good measure.

 

On that first slide home, John and Sherlock kissed deeply and moaned into each others mouths before Sherlock started to move quicker.

 

“John, you feel so good. I am so lucky. And I don’t even believe in luck.” Panted between thrusts. “Everything’s always better with you, and you love me. How? What could I have done to deserve you in my life? I want everyone to know, John. Everyone should know that you are mine. My love.”

 

John couldn’t speak as Sherlock panted these words into his mouth thrusting himself into John’s arse. So he moaned, and gasped, and clenched around Sherlock’s thrusts and held onto him with every ounce of strength he possessed. He thrust against Sherlock, and made Sherlock feel his love returned.

 

John tracked Sherlock’s thrusts falter in rhythm, and welcomed Sherlock’s cry into his mouth as Sherlock poured his seed into him, and smoothed his hands along Sherlock’s back and sides through his sweat to bring him back to himself steadily, moving so they were side-by-side instead, and slipped out of bed grabbed a towel to clean up their mess and pulled Sherlock into his chest, spooning the lanky body against his own shorter body.

 

“I love you, Sherlock. And one day, everyone will know that I’m yours, promise.” John whispered against Sherlock’s ear, but the consulting detective had already begun to doze. John fell asleep curled around and watching over a sleeping Sherlock through the evening.

 

oOo

 

After spending a lazy Wednesday kissing and making love in various places in their hotel room, and that time on the balcony, very quietly, Thursday saw them waking up early to get out and exploring.

 

They left by nine to find breakfast in town, walking hand in hand with a healthy glow surrounding them. Sherlock found himself smiling inanely at people, and John-mainly John-as they walked along the pebbles looking out to the sea.

 

“I don’t want some greasy spoon breakfast today, John. After all the exercise we’ve been doing I want something else that makes me feels good on the inside.” Sherlock wrapped himself around John tighter as they stopped on the beach for a time, in defiance of their hollow, talking stomachs.

 

John didn’t speak as he looked out at the surf as it crashed upon the multitude of stones below them. He simply nodded and turned his face to the sky like a sun worshipper would to seek blessing from a deity. He smiled when he felt Sherlock’s lips against his head.

 

It was over breakfast that Sherlock started to notice that John had something on his mind that he hadn’t allowed himself to see before between the laughing and smiling so hard that it hurt. The kissing and the holding hands and the sex-tremendous sex-has kept Sherlock from paying detailed attention to John emotionally. Oh, Sherlock knew John was happy, but normally he could sense-see-a lot more. Sherlock committed a part of his brain to keep an eye out for evidence throughout the day to solve the mystery.

 

Sherlock wondered, as he tucked into another sausage, if it was something that he had done. Being a couple was still so new to him, whereas John had previous experience in the area. Were dirty non-weekends supposed to be like this? Sherlock couldn’t recall any discussions of details in his mind-palace, and if he had had any he’d deleted it before now.

 

As they sat in the healthy café drinking some kind of healthy goats milk latte, Sherlock noticed more as John spoke about trying to see how far around town they could walk. John’s face sort of, well it _shuttered_. It was like blinking but it affected his whole face, like he was trying to suppress something, a memory or thought of some kind. Sherlock knew John did that sort of thing when he was lying, but he didn’t have anything to lie about, did he?

 

No, not a lie, but it was obviously something that John didn’t feel comfortable telling him about, and that bothered Sherlock, worried him to the point of distraction as they paid and left.

 

Going back down to the pebbles that littered the beach meant that they could absorb sun, which John loved and Sherlock mostly felt ambivalent towards in any season, late spring was not any exception. John made himself comfortable by imbedding himself into the pebbles of varying sizes and insisted that Sherlock join him at his side for a time. Sherlock rested his head on John’s stomach and took it upon himself to observe the people milling around the shops on the promenade and telling John all about them. He fetched the drinks to keep them going, and threw pebbles into the sea to compete with John as to who could throw the furthest, and they giggled as they skipped stones.

 

In all of this, Sherlock almost forgot the _shutter._

 

It was definitely late lunch when Sherlock insisted that they eat a full meal, and he tugged John back towards the shops and East Street to eat at _Fishy Fishy._ John had been talking about it being owned by the TV presenter Dermot O’Something, and earlier in the day had booked a reservation for them. It had only taken a drop of the name to secure the table at such short notice.

 

John beamed at Sherlock when they were seated, ecstatic to be inside the restaurant he’d been desperate to visit with Harry, but she had never had the time in recent weeks. John tried to explain to Sherlock what he loved about fish restaurants before their waitress came over to take their order and when she left John could only thank Sherlock by kissing his hands and uttering thanks.

 

“John, you don’t have to keep thanking me. I know you’ve been desperate to come here for a while now. What kind of partner would I be if I _never_ paid any attention to you?” Sherlock smiled as John’s smiled played at the corners of his lips. “Anyway, I do prefer it when you smile at me. I’ll be the first to admit it to you-only you- that I get a little jealous when you smile at everyone else.”

 

John’s smile got wider and his eyes got brighter. “Sherlock, I think everyone knows how jealous you get when it comes to me. Do you not remember about a month ago before we came out, that Sally smiled at me and put her hand on my arm? Your eyes almost bulged from your head and you gave her such a lashing… When we got home, I believe my punishment was allowing you to top while I got carpet burns on my arse.”

 

Sherlock sighed dramatically. “You didn’t just smile, John. You smiled at Donovan the same way that you smiled at me when we first got together. It looked like you were being enticed by that… that…”

 

“Bitch?” John offered with a twinkle in his eyes.

 

“No. Yes, that morally bankrupt base instinct viper that I can’t stand at the best of times. What’s worse, she looked extremely interested in you, which I wouldn’t mind if it were anyone else. You’re with me and what we have in each other is not something that is based on how nice your arms are. The ways we trust each other shouldn’t be interrupted by women _like her_!”

 

Sherlock rallied in his fit, and his dark curls fell about his face, but all he was watching was John. John’s face looked rapt for attention all the way until the word _trust_ was mentioned and his face _shuttered again_ , which confirmed it for Sherlock.

 

When their food arrived they tucked in, and John started to talk about his favorite fish recipes and which ones he would love to try at home. He spoke of all the fish dishes he’d eaten in the different countries he’d been in. Sherlock made all the right noises while his head tried to figure out what the lie was and why John would lie. There was nothing in the aimless chatter that cast any light on it for him, so he waited for John to stuff more than a fork-full of food into his mouth and spoke carefully.

 

“John, I know that you have something on your mind. I want you to know that whatever it is, you can tell me when you’re ready, because I’m here to…help you-support you–in any way that I can.” Sherlock paused for a moment to watch John chew slowly as though he was afraid of choking and took some strength from the fact he hadn’t been told to shut up.

 

“I’ve heard that a problem shared is a problem halved, and what I mean to say is, I’ll take half from you. Whatever you feel comfortable sharing with me, I’ll take. I know that I don’t really understand what makes relationships work the way other people do. I know I am not always the most…understanding, but I love you.” Sherlock started to stumble over his words in his haste to make sure John knew he was not on his own.

 

John’s fork clattered to his plate noisily as he tried to roll words in his mouth to speak. If he had known that Sherlock had noticed that there was something, he would have dispelled that immediately. He never wanted Sherlock uncomfortable, which was part of the reason he was acting so strange when it came down to it.

 

“It’s not… Sh-Sherlock it’s really complicated. I can’t guarantee that you will take this well. I did it with the best intentions, I really did but now…now I’m not so sure.” John placed a hand over Sherlock’s own and felt his cool delicate skin.

 

“John, what did…you...?” Sherlock’s eyes glinted with the speed of his thoughts as his lips formed a gentle ‘o’ that at any other time or place could have been taken as an invitation by John. “John, oh John. Tell me you didn’t.”

 

John watched and felt contrite as Sherlock tugged his hands away to put his head in them and tug at his dark curls. His hands felt empty without Sherlock’s to keep them steady.

 

“I’m sorry, I wish I was the kind of person to lie…I suppose I did lie. It seemed like the best way. You’re mum misses you, right. She feels like you are hiding from her, and yet she is so important to you. I couldn’t help but get involved.” John chewed his lip in consternation thinking back to Sherlock’s reaction to his mothers’ letter two weeks ago.

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“No, no it’s not okay if I’ve upset and betrayed you. I should have spoken to you, asked more questions…I should never have… I was trying to keep you occupied with sex.”

 

Sherlock took John’s hands within his own to establish a reconnection, having read somewhere that it can help to get attention.

 

“It’s alright, John.” Sherlock paused as John’s gaze met his own. “Really it is. I should go back, you are right about that. You don’t know the extent of my mixed emotions about the place; I haven’t been all that forthcoming. When we’re there, ask me again and I will try to tell you. Meeting Mummy is important to you, a meet the parent type of thing, and it’s important to me, too. I think Mummy will like you. And the sex has been thoroughly enjoyable.”

 

John picked up his fork carefully and picked apart more of the delicate fish on his plate before feeding himself the cooling morsel. “Right then. That’s…good. Good stuff.”

 

Sherlock resumed eating with John for a time and let his mind wonder to arranging the car, maybe calling his mother to pick them up, and sighed in irritation. “I should arrange a car, I suppose, to get us down there.” Sherlock watched John cast his eyes to his plate with a new intensity. “What?”

 

“It’s all arranged. Everything. The car picks us up tomorrow morning”

 

Sherlock took a moment to think of his interfering brother, and muttered his name as a curse before he forked a mouthful of fish and salad into his mouth. Manners at least prevented him from speaking with his mouth full to the brim as he chewed and swallowed.

 

“I imagine that my brother enjoyed planning this with you. Well, if I am going to do this, I think that I need a night out before I go home. Once we’ve finished we are going to a bar, and I am going to get tipsy, and then we are going to go clubbing. Once there I intend on getting so pissed that my brain has slowed down extensively, and you must take advantage of me once we are back in the hotel room. I want to have warm fuzzy feelings and thoughts stacked up, and I want you in all of them.”

 

 

oOo

 

 

Sherlock woke at six am on Friday morning with a hangover. He wasn’t quite sure how that was possible since he had only fallen asleep two hours ago, but he was intent on piecing it together.

 

His hangover wasn’t one of those mild ones with the continuous throb that lingered, but one that he had threatened to tear his skull open with a can opener that used stiletto spikes. Were they the stiletto’s he remembered wearing last night or this morning? Sherlock wasn’t sure.

 

Sherlock tried to replay his memory of the night before, but it was blurry from around seven, when he had dragged John to the nearest pub to continue the drinking game that he had instigated at the last pub. Was it around this time that John decided that Sherlock could compete on his own or other patron’s but not himself? Sherlock believed so but had no memory to use as evidence, but he knew that alcohol arrived and he drank it, not John, who acted as his chaperone.

 

Sherlock’s thoughts were pulled sharply back to the present when the balcony door slid open and John walked through look mostly relaxed clad only in white boxers. There was a slight bunch in his shoulders that told Sherlock John was still nervous, and the bags under his eyes said that John probably got less sleep than him.

 

The nerves were obviously to do with going to Holmes Manor and not knowing what to expect. Sherlock had left so much unsaid and now they were so close, it was probably better to leave them unsaid until they arrive. The lack of sleep would have been John watching over him. His silly doctor. He had done this by getting drunk, and to be honest acting like more of a child than normal, and John still looked at him like he was the sun.

 

“I ordered breakfast while you slept. Nothing too heavy: tea, a light fried breakfast. We have some time before…before the car arrives.” Sherlock remained still, waiting, and John watched him with keen eyes trying got pick up any detail he could.

 

“You don’t have to do this, Sherlock. I’ve forced it on you. So…if you wanted to change your mind…”

 

“That would be…an amazing offer John. Utterly pleasing, but we are, in fact, going to The Manor.” Sherlock loved the look of happiness cross John’s face, which was precisely the reason he said it.

 

“But-“ John attempted to speak.

 

“The Manor is a family home. You are my family, and if I keep that in mind… well I should just get through this weekend in one piece I think. For you, I will try to be,” Sherlock curled his lip in disgust, “mature about all of this.”

 

John’s shoulders visibly relaxed and all of his facial features lost any tension that they had held onto. Looking at John now picking his way across the room, compared to two days ago he could see that there were signs of strain. Why hadn’t he noticed them?

 

Soon Sherlock had a lapful of Watson settling over his hips with only a thin sheet and a pair of boxers to separate them. This proved effective at scattering Sherlock’s thoughts coupled with John’s tongue seeking entrance to his mouth, laving at his lips and probing for an opening. It was when John grazed Sherlock’s hardness through the sheet that Sherlock opened his mouth to gasp and let John in, his tongue seeking out each tooth, sucking and stroking on his tongue to illicit whooshes of air instead of sound.

 

John held fast onto a shoulder as Sherlock clung to his hips and drove his own up in something like a rhythm – albeit a random rhythm accompanied by guttural moans that John swallowed – to gather friction for them both. When Sherlock yielded by breaking the kiss, he saw a glint of something raw in John’s eyes and quirked an eyebrow.

 

“Remember lunch?”

 

“Obviously, John.” Sherlock drawled as John nuzzled his neck.

 

“Much after that?”

 

“Yes, well, little bits and pieces are coming back to me, I think I need to sit and focus on them. Why?”

 

“Oh, you just had this idea of what you wanted me to do to you this morning. I thought I would deliver on it.” John sucked an earlobe into his mouth and Sherlock keened beneath him, before he murmured.

 

John had a fist full of curls as he drew Sherlock’s mouth to his own. He nibbled on that plump bottom lip that always taunted him with salacious thoughts before planting a needy kiss on him. Sherlock’s hand tugged at John’s boxers and was rewarded with the sight of his engorged crown when room service knocked at the door. They both waited a beat before John leveled Sherlock with a stare that had so many levels of ‘don’t you dare move’ that Sherlock’s eyes were the only thing that tracked John.

 

John was back in a shot after dumping the tray to resume what he started, when he stopped again, surprised.

 

“Was that… you?”

 

Sherlock tried to head-butt the hands that cradled his face before he opened his mouth to respond… and his stomach spoke for him again instead. Two shades of blues eyes met playfully as a smile played over Sherlock’s thoroughly kissed lips.

 

“Well, you have been making me eat regularly. This is the predictable side effect as we skipped dinner,” Sherlock laughed and the baritone of it hit John so that he was torn between feeding Sherlock and feeding the passion that Sherlock seemed to spark.

 

Feeding Sherlock won out marginally. John tugged Sherlock from the bed with the sheet lightly wrapped around him that had nothing to do with modesty, and John thought back to Buckingham Palace and wondering what was under that sheet. Well now he knew.

 

Sherlock didn’t gorge himself on breakfast; but he tasted each morsel in such a way that John felt heat travel across his skin and his fingers twitch. Sherlock placed food into his mouth, but left his finger lingering for a moment between his lush lips before dragging the finger slowly out with a pop.

 

Watching Sherlock play with his food wasn’t new for John, nor was the affect that John felt pressing against his boxer shorts. John was held a prisoner with no restraints as he watching Sherlock lick at his fingers, or place a sausage between his lips suggestively. John desperately wanted to get fucked by Sherlock, sod the breakfast.

 

“John?”

 

“Hmm.”

 

“Your pupils are dilated and I can see your pulse fluttering in your throat. Are you aroused by what you see?” Sherlock asked throatily, watching John bite his lips at the sound of his voice.

 

“Yes. Oh god, yes.” John felt a haze surround him as he answered. Sherlock’s lips and neck focal points, and the sheet… that damned sheet which had dipped so low that John wasn’t harboring any doubts about Sherlock’s own thoughts.

 

“You want to finish what we started, don’t you? Of course you do.” John nodded. “I think you should know John, under this table…under this sheet, I am rock hard.”

John swallowed air, and controlled his impulse to lean over and drag Sherlock down for a soul-shattering kiss. He allowed himself to whimper, so Sherlock would know that this was his game now.

 

John watched Sherlock tug gently at the sheet, where his eyes couldn’t quite follow and watched Sherlock’s eyes flutter shut as his breath hitched and a flushed worked its was down his chest. “Nhghh… Jo-o-ohn…want you.”

 

Sherlock moved his chair back from the table and lowered the sheet completely, baring himself to John.

 

“Yes.”

 

John abandoned his food and clambered onto the bed in a shot, kicking off his boxers that were already a hindrance. Sherlock followed at a more sedate step, allowing John to watch him advance, his muscle ripple, the bounce of his cock. John knew that it was as much for him as a voyeur as it was for Sherlock as an exhibitionist. Sherlock crawled up the bed and over John and held him in place with a series of little kisses across his lips, chin, neck and ears as he lowered himself to John and pressed their bodies together in a groan they shared.

 

“Going to have you, John. Going to take you apart in exquisite pleasure and you will come so hard that you see stars in daylight. Going to fu-uck you.’ Sherlock whispered into John’s skin and he moved so slowly.

 

“Oh god…”

 

Sherlock nudged John’s legs further apart and let his weight move over John, simulating the sex they were going to have shortly. “John, I can’t wait to bury myself into you, inch…after…inch.”

 

“Shit.” John’s eyes rolled back as he held on to Sherlock’s arm. “Get on with it then. Fuck me already.”

 

Sherlock produced the lube sachet from under his pillow and applied the cool gel to his fingers before moving them over John’s puckered hole and inside with practiced ease. Grunts turned to moans as Sherlock played John’s pleasure like a violin, stretching him open a finger at a time until John was vibrating with anticipation before Sherlock finally lifted his legs over his shoulders to get into position before sliding home in one slow push.

 

John was already muttering lowly to himself, a sure sign that he wouldn’t last very long, the litany of “oh god, oh shit so good” spilled form his lips while Sherlock made his own prayers in the sound of “so perfect, so hot John” that the slip and slide of their bodies together meant that they was talking through their kisses together, sloppy and wet.

 

John pushed against a thrust of Sherlock’s and keened as his prostate was nudged once, twice, and a third time to push him into the chasm, clenching around Sherlock who was relentless in the chase of his own orgasm, coming only with a guttural groan and slumping over John and lowering his legs.

 

Sherlock started to return to himself panting as John carded through his curls and kissed the cheek of his idiot genius.

 

“I believe I owe you congratulations. You made me see stars in daylight.” John was rewarded with a baritone laugh that vibrated through his heart and soul and brought a smile to his lips. He thought of moving for a moment to get cleaned up, but he thought that five more minutes wouldn’t hurt as he relaxed in the post-coital bliss he

floated in.

 

 

oOo

 

At midday, after a much needed nap and shower, John and Sherlock checked out of the hotel and stood by the car that Mycroft had described in meticulous detail. The maroon Bentley was already waiting with the boot open and the driver standing by the open back door.

 

“Long time no see, Sherlock.” The older man tipped his hat before glancing at John. “You must be Doctor Watson, it’s a pleasure.”

 

John shook the proffered hand and smiled at the chauffer, “Hello. Call me John, please.”

 

Sherlock pushed John towards the open door of the car. “I’ll help with the bags, Jenson.”

 

John climbed into the luxurious interior after a moment’s hesitation and a raised eyebrow from Sherlock, and the door was closed behind him before Sherlock disappeared from view to help load the bags. John could only hear muffled conversation until the boot was closed and Sherlock slid in beside him and Jenson was behind the wheel.

 

“John, Jenson is our family driver and he also runs the Manor. His been with the family since I was a teenager.” Sherlock gripped his hand firmly as the car pulled away and moved along the seafront.

 

“Your family has a driver?”

 

“Don’t bite your lip, John, please. You knew we had money and its just Jenson. Mummy loves to drive herself, be independent, but Jenson tends to accompany her when she wishes. She does hate relying on others to get things done.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Hmm. Mycroft and I don’t take after her much in that respect, I feel. Mycroft has the government and I have you.” Sherlock shifted and kissed John’s knuckles. “You’ll soon see what I mean. When you see, you’ll understand, I’d only make a hash of it all.”

 

John smiled out of the window at the passing by scenery, having left Brighton town centre and heading up through Rottingdean with the sea sprawling to one side then almost behind them for a time.

 

In the last few weeks John had probed for stories of his childhood, and on occasion Sherlock had let the odd thing slip or obliged a tale about a nearby town. John smiled at the thought of a thoroughly animated Sherlock, one he had only seen while getting excited about a case or adventurous sex. John had been convinced that these little things would have been deleted from Sherlock’s mind, but they were there locked up tightly somewhere.

 

Jenson announced when they arrived in Battle, pulling both John and Sherlock from their thoughts. John’s heart felt like a kick drum suddenly, he felt out of his element, and not in the way that usually had him relying on his army training to get by. Meeting the parents was…well; it was bloody huge, even with Sherlock’s hand covering his own, he felt panic.

 

Maybe John’s panic was reinforced by Sherlock’s own discomfort, which obviously increased as they slowed at the wrought-iron gates that opened slowly. John wondered for a moment if it was just a gated community, but as the Bentley eased down the graveled path lined by a dense copse of trees either side, he knew that wasn’t the case.

 

John could feel Sherlock’s eyes on him from under hooded lids, studying him closely for his reactions. When the light broke overhead, and the trees gave way to a bridge over a lake with an actual manor at the top of a pile of stairs on the other side, he lost control of his face, and failed to school his features at all.

 

The path they were on turned into a driveway that curved by the bottom of the stairs and around the house in both directions. Large plains of green spread from around the lake in both directions, broken only by a cluster of buildings that John could see from different eras of architecture. Everything held a story, some historical note, but one thing was glaringly obvious.

 

“You’re rich.”

 

Sherlock didn’t turn his head. This was not a question.

 

“Not me. Mummy and Mycroft are rich. My, um… inheritance has clauses all over it for use. Plus I hate to use it.”

 

Jenson pulled up and stepped form the car to retrieve the bags, and John turned to Sherlock and kept his voice low. “No, Sherlock. If you grew up here, on this…estate, you are rich. This is what I expect lesser royals, dukes and whatever else to live in. What?”

 

“Well, Mummy is a Lady by title, and technically, Mycroft is a Viscount, being the eldest.” Sherlock took hold of John’s hands in his own, “John, really it’s nothing. This is just a house. I’m still me. My childhood is just…”

 

“It’s part of who you are, Sherlock. Something I should know about. Letting me in so I don’t get caught off guard like this.” John took a steadying breath and placed a kiss on Sherlock’s knuckles. “Come on. Introduce me, yeah.”

 

John slid from the Bentley and pulled Sherlock along with his in a vice grip, and they took the stairs to the main building as the door opened and a woman rushed out.

 

John noted her height, her individual style, her face said that she should be in her early fifties, and he could tell that wasn’t because she’d had work done. She was beautiful, high cheekbones that could only have given Sherlock his. John suddenly felt like he was fifteen, holding onto the hand of his date and going to the family dinner.

 

“Sherly, you’re early. I told Shinwell to take the scenic route so John could enjoy the countryside. Come here darling, I’ve missed you.” The woman was saying, drawing Sherlock into a hug with the beck of an arm, and Sherlock went without complaint and a small murmur, holding on tightly to John’s hand. It was almost too personal to watch as reunions went. Until she caught John’s eye over Sherlock’s bent frame with a smile and gently pushed him away.

 

“John, I’m Annabelle, welcome to Holmes Manor.” Annabelle drew John into a quick hug. “I see Sherlock didn’t mention our station at all, did he?” Annabelle turned to Sherlock, “You should have prepared him. C’mon boys, inside, so we can catch up over tea.”

 

Annabelle Holmes turned led John and Sherlock inside the Manor.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this, please let me know what you think.


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